Take No Prisoners
by Peanutbutter1
Summary: Puck had a job to do, whether he wanted to or not, and Rachel Berry, whether he wanted her or not, was going to help him. Some fathers left their sons furniture stores, comp bushiness, or home town garages Puck's left him blood, guts, and sharp teeth.
1. Chapter 1

Take No Prisoners

Author: Peanutbutter

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.

Authors Note: Completely Au, but hopefully as in character as a story that makes Noah Puckerman and Rachel Berry vampire hunters can be. Hope you like it and if you don't what can I do, not much really. Anyway tell me what you think. All mistakes are mine, obviously, and I only read over this a few times so I'm sorry if it's full or errors. I tried to fix as many mistakes as I could.

0o0o0o0o0

His father was a fucking asshole. Puck pulled his hand back and hacked, the blood spray was enormous and Puck tucked his lips into his mouth in an attempt to keep the ingestion minimal. It really would figure that his dad, the fucking son of a bitch bastard, would leave him with this sort of legacy. Muscle tore and ripped, but the damned head was refusing to leave the neck. This beefy mother fucker was huge and his machete was about four bodies past it's perfect razor sharp edge. Some fathers, he raised his machete and hacked again more muscle tore and the bone splintered, left their sons furniture stores, computer businesses, and home town garages. His father, his arm swung and the head fell with a dull thud and Puck step away from the enormous body and slung the blade sharply sending a spray of blood onto the factory wall, left him blood and guts, sharp teeth, and a mother fucking job that promised nothing but an end in a body bag. Don't get him wrong he loved it, well some days. Puck raised his hand to wipe the specks of blood on his face, but it was saturated with red. Sighing, Puck took the blade and wiped the red onto the bottom of his shirt and across the thigh of his jeans. Damn Shout owned him. There was nothing else out there that got ride of blood stains. Shrugging, he did the same with his hands and stepped over the decapitated bodies toward the still crying girl hanging from the ceiling.

Saving the day wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure he got that rush, that 'you are the fucking man' rush but the more blood, and death, and failure and that rush is dulled. His father left him that; depression, and death, and danger pricked with moments of redeeming light that were short lived and far between. His father was a prick.

The girl was still sniveling, her pretty face bright red with tears and snot running out of her nose. Her hair fell in messy brown strings around her face and her clothes were splattered with blood. Hanging next to her, where her friends. Her friends that hadn't made it. She was lucky, not that she'd think that with the nightmares and the fucking survivors guilt that would follow. He knew those things, had seen them over and over, there was no way around it and it was something else his father had left to him. He reached for her, ignoring the flinching and closed blood shot eyes. It was hard to trust the man who just chopped ten full grown men to pieces, while laughing. Sure she was hung there by the ten and he saved her, but he was the one currently covered in blood and holding the knife. It was hard to explain that the men he'd decapitated were vampires and 'he', the psycho with the knife, was the good guy. He'd given up on trying to get tail from grateful victims. Usually he got screams and sometimes they hit him but mostly tears. Sometimes he'd take them out for waffles, hell they always made him feel better, and tried to explain things. Once, for his trouble, he got a kiss on the cheek, but that was the extent of his damsel in distress play.

"Relax babe," he mumbled and gripped her wrists as gently as he could. The skin under his thumb was rough with dried blood and she turned her head away from him as he pulled her wrist to him, making her swing chaotically in his direction. The tie straps were plastic cord and rope attached to a zip line running along the ceiling. This girl was in the middle of a bunch of bled out and dead bodies. Ripping out someone's throat didn't make for a clean kill in any way shape or form. There was a lot of blood at their feet smeared together as he shuffled to set her free.

Puck shoved the handle of his machete in the loop on his pants, reluctant to put the soiled blade back in it's sheath and pulled the pocket knife out and snapped the plastic cord. She fell against him sniveling and crying and clinging to him. The entire factory smelled like blood, and death, and some fucking how urine. He was ready to leave and possibly a little hungry. His system was fucked. He laughed when he was chopping up bodies and the sight of all that blood and the rush of adrenaline always had him starved.

"Let's get you out of here," he mumbled trying to avoid the blood soaked hair and rubbing a comforting circle on her back. "It's over. You can go home now."

She didn't turn immediately, but her sniffling softened and she turned into him. Her fingers clung and gripped his shirt. He pulled her a little closer and rubbed her back, hoping they could leave soon. The police were never far behind and with as much noise as he'd made taking the pack of vampires out there was no way he hadn't been heard. He didn't want to push her too soon; make her scream, but he really needed to be gone. Just as he was pulling away she hauled him closer. She was strong, too strong for a girl that was just hanging from a zip line with a trail of dried blood running down her neck and staining the collar of her floral patterned shirt.

"Oh, uh," he mumbled, "chill out for a sec. Things are fine." Her fingers ran up his arm, running a trail of gripped fabric and nails digging into flesh as her small hands formed a vice on his biceps. Her face, he still couldn't see her, ran along his chest open mouth pressed to his pecs running over his collar bone to his neck. Her finger's tugged, her breathing increased, her teeth scraped over his flesh. Her legs wrapped around his calf, pulling him ever closer. He tried to push her away, but her grip was tight, inhuman. He was fucked and of course it was his fucking father's fault.

"Hey, baby, hey, relax a bit," He tried to pull her hands free, but she growled, low in the throat a rumbling purr of dissatisfaction. Her leg wrapped around his calf tugging until he was falling backward and fuck it he was in trouble. His back hit the floor first followed closely by his head, thwacking it smartly and making black spots dance in front of his eyes.

"So hungry," she lifted her head from his neck, where her tongue was rushing out over his skin, tasting, and damn it had been a while and, shit, he was just a little turned on. Rationally he knew she was licking the dried blood off his body, that her teeth, all of them not just her incisors, were elongating, and she was hungry, but it had been a really damn long time.

"Yeah, waffles," Puck mumbled, "let's go get some." He tried to free his hand, trapped under her body and used the other to push her away from his neck. "I'm hungry too." She lifted, freeing his hand and for the first time he could see her face, her sharp toothed, black eyed stare of a newborn. He wasn't quite as turned on anymore. It probably had something to do with the surety of being eaten.

His hand groped for his machete, or his pocket knife, anything. She was still new to this, didn't understand her cravings and more importantly her own strength. It wouldn't be long before she figured it out and the lithe, once beautiful, but now dead woman was going to rip his throat out and he was going to go out just like his old man. The fucking son of a bitch.

0o0o0o0

Noah 'Puck' Puckerman was hopeless, hopeless and completely incapable of functioning without her. There was a reason she'd stuck around, a reason he'd tried to push her away, leave her at gas stations (in every state) and she was still able to find him, or you know he came back because he felt guilty. She wasn't gullible enough to think that he actually cared about her, that was just stupid and completely counter productive. Rachel Berry dealt in fact, not fiction. Puck needed her to do his job and more importantly to stay alive. As much as he loved to put himself in danger, to tip toe the edge of stupidity and bravery he wanted to live. He had a zeal of life that she had yet to catch. She liked life, just you know in a scheduled, gold star rewarding, end goal kind of way. Not his beer drinking, killing, sex, and sex, and lots of sex, all the time kind of way. They were two different people and she admitted, because she was evolved and civilized, that they needed one another. He, on the other hand, needed to be reminded of her extreme importance on a regular basis.

Walking into the damp, dirty, and dark abandoned factory and stepping over decapitated bodies and tip toeing around puddles of blood, she realized just how wrong Puck had been to go it alone. He'd claimed that he 'had everything covered' and 'calm the fuck down he didn't need a chick for back up'. Clearly it had been untrue. Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and set her foot to tapping on the cement floor. He had been right about a skirt not really being conducive to killing vampires and she was rather small comparatively, especially considering the gigantic corpse Puck and the newly turned vamp, that was hovering over him, was any indication. She should have worn pants, but she was in the middle of cover, one she'd invented herself, and she was trying to infiltrate herself into a group of teens. She was sure the skirt and knee socks were perfect, she'd been kind of wrong, but so had Puck. Admitting they were both wrong and right was something neither were good at. Clearly he needed her help and clearly her outfit looked ridiculous. Everyone had laughed. If she hadn't had years of High School under her belt in which she'd ignored all kinds of ridicule her feelings might have been hurt.

Rachel decided there was no reason to wait for him to acknowledge her. He was struggling, obviously, to reach a weapon and slay the stupid vampire that was undulating her hips against his while she reached for his throat. Her teeth were scraping his throat when Rachel stepped behind their intertwined bodies and grabbed the machete just out of his reach. Sighing testily she drew it back and hacked at soul sucking bitch's neck. The knife didn't slice right through, dulled, probably from over use. She was always telling him to sharpen after every use. There was no way her machete would ever be in this poor of condition. Grunting, she ignored the way Puck screamed, kind of like a girl, and the way the vampire's inhuman screech made her ears ring and put her foot on Puck's chest. She pulled yanking the blade free and came down again. This time the blade made it through the spinal cord and the vampire slumped, bleeding against Puck's chest.

All that stuff about wooden stakes and holy water was pretty inaccurate. Vampires could be killed with a wood stake, or anything wooden through the heart, but their rib cage was to hard to puncture for any normal human being. They had both tried it, failed, and nearly been killed by the attempt. Holy water did work, to burn and distract, but it didn't kill. The only sure fire way to slay a vampire was messy and hard and took a lot of hacking. Decapitating was the best way, maiming helped, but they continued to tick unless the head was removed.

"So you didn't need me at all?" Rachel asked and flicked the blood off her fingers and wondered if it was going to come out of her knee socks. They were new and even though they didn't round out her teenage look she could use them and they were cute. She was going to have to buy more Shout.

"Took your sweet time!" Puck complained and shoved the corpse off his chest and rolled to his feet. His gray shirt was soaked through with blood. There was no way they were getting the stains out. They were going to have to toss the whole outfit. There went more from the budget. Puck was always over running the clothing budget.

"You told me you had it covered and I quote 'I don't have time to wait for you'," Rachel pointed out and held the machete out to Puck.

He was nearly growling as he grabbed it and shoved it through the loop in his pants. "Yeah well when has that been the case. Besides you should have followed me. I got here first."

Rachel rolled her eyes vetoing the parts of the conversation that didn't matter. There something important. "Is that you finally admitting that you were wrong?" Rachel crossed her arms and shook her head. "I might have to get you to say that again, and record it."

"If that's what you got out of what I said, you're crazier than I thought," He surveyed the damage and grabbed her arm to pull her with him. "What was with you making me squirm that chick almost had Puckzilla for dinner."

Rachel shook her arm free of his grasp, ignoring the bloody prints on her forearm and followed. "Puckzilla, really?" He shrugged, grunted, just about his normal response to everything, you know when he wasn't being disgustingly lewd and kept walking machete swinging from his hip in some sort of follow me gesture, a grotesque bloody one. "Besides I know your 'I'm so hot for you' face and that was it. That disgusting blood sucker was turning you on." Puck stopped fixed her with a glare and Rachel continued before he could fire back. "You're gross."

"And your idea to stake out the teen hot spots and getting them to talk about the cool 'rave' parties was fucking stupid!" Puck grumbled and turned back around hopping over corpses with a ridiculously giddy leap that didn't fit in with the blood scene he was skipping through.

"It got me here didn't it. It worked and if you had just waited a bit longer I could have helped you." She pointed out and toed her way over a severed head. "'Puckzilla' wouldn't have almost gotten eaten and I wouldn't have nightmares about the wide screw me eyes you were giving that undead brunette."

"God," he moaned as he stepped into the moonlight, "I'm going to leave you here. I hope the cops pick you up and realize what a freaking crazy person you are. You need to be committed."

She ignored him and rounded on the parked muscle car, Puck's car. It was red and loud and too conspicuous but there seemed to be some unspoken rule about muscle cars and vampire hunters. You couldn't have one without the other. "Aren't you going to ask how my side of things went?" It really was important to recognize her contribution to the team. After all she had never really been a team player before and now she was falling into the roll nicely and graciously. Her humility was one of her greatest assets. It was important he recognize that and give her the credit she deserved.

Puck pulled his shirt over his head as he opened the driver's side door. It was dark but she could see the blood staining his shoulders and chest still wet and fresh. There was a time when the sight would have made her gasp and recoil. Unfortunately, or fortunately it didn't bother her anymore. It wasn't his blood anyway. It was darker than it should be, barely red, more death than life.

"You bring a towel?" He mumbled as he balled the shirt up and shoved it into the plastic bags she'd stashed in the console. She had been making fleeing with little mess a lot easier and a lot more likely they wouldn't be caught. She hadn't gotten a thank you for that either.

"Yeah," Rachel paused and gestured toward the back. "I brought two."

He grunted, standard answer. Rachel launched into her account before she'd shown up at the warehouse and subsequently become Puck's savior. "Well I figured since most of the missing people were teens I would impersonate one and get the information first hand."

"So you donned the catholic school girl look and tried seduce the answers out of them," He tossed the tied plastic bags into the back seat and got in.

"I don't think that was even," He cut her off. She hated being cut off.

"'And I don't want to be arrested get your ass in before the police show up and we're both in jail." He cranked the car. "I don't fucking care what you did just get in the fucking car."

It was a good idea to leave quickly. It had been a loud clearing too many screams and a lot of laughing. She was going to have to discuss his unhealthy love of violence soon. There was no way to explain the bodies and the blood and the reason they had done any of it. No one ever believed it was vampires. People were so closed minded, but she couldn't blame them. She had once been one of them. Leaving and continuing the conversation in the car was the best option but bending to his will was really hard for her. She kind of hated that he was right at the moment.

"We'll discuss it later." He managed, quirked a brow. It was like an apology, sort of. She could take it as one.

"Fine, but you're giving me a full account when we get back. I need to fill in the gaps of my journal and document the vampire movement. There might be a pattern."

They didn't have time to swing by a hotel before they headed out of town. There was too much risk. Rachel rolled her eyes as she secured her seat belt and sent a glare toward Puck in the passenger seat. He ignored her glare and continued to drive, without a seat belt and exceeding the speed limit by at least ten miles an hour. He refused to take any precaution. She tried to not let it bother her and cleared her throat as she pulled her journal out from under the passenger seat.

He snorted. "Whatever. I'm beat. You're going to drive when we get to the first rest stop. I need to sleep."

Rachel looked him up and down. He was blood all over, in his hair, his clothes, across his naked chest. She wrinkled her brow in distaste. "Don't you want to shower first?"

"And miss the chance to gross you out, never," Puck snorted and pushed the gas harder. Rachel was thankful for her seat belt as he wove haphazardly through traffic.

"You really have no," she paused and turned away from him. There was really nothing much to say. He was gross, and crass, and a complete bother but without her he was hopeless. She stuck around because she had to, because without her he'd be dead and as much as he bothered her she didn't want him dead. She owned him too much and somewhere under his incredibly rough exterior was a good person.

"That brunette was hot."

"What?"

"I mean the vampire, before she got all fangy and and blood thirsty, totally hot." He shifted in his seat. "I need to get fucking laid really bad."

Rachel took a deep breath and exhaled heavily through her nose, patience was a virtue, and Noah 'Puck' Puckerman was more than what he said and did. She could over look it.

"You want to help a fellow out," he gestured toward his crotch and made a lewd gesture with his hand.

Rachel opened her mouth and suppressed the scream that escaped her lips. She managed to keep it to a low growl between clenched teeth. "You are disgusting." She ground out. "Don't, don't talk to me until you're ready to pull over."

He shrugged and she turned away. She didn't have to see the look on his face to know he was smirking in satisfaction. He lived to rile her up. She hoped one of the many loose woman he insisted on bedding in every state gave him some sort of terrible STD that made his penis turn black and fall off.


	2. Connections

**Title: **Take No Prisoners

**Author: **Peanutbutter

**Author's Note: **Italics are a flash back everything else is present day. Thank you so much for the reviews. I'll try to get the next chapter out in a more timely fashion, sorry for the wait. Mistakes are mine. Anyone wanting to Beta PM me. Thanks again!

0o0o0o0o0

_Puck's father abandoned him when he was eight. His sister was just born, a bright pink and wiggling little girl wrapped in yellow. He remembered holding her close to his chest as his father walked out the door waving his arms and yelling at his mother. Puck, at the time, hadn't been able to recall a single moment in the last year when his father had spoken to him directly. He was always busy, too busy for Puck or even his Mother, not to mention his little sister. There had been a time when his Father would pull him close and make him laugh. _

_When he was five his father placed him in his lap the bright acoustic guitar across both their laps and taught him as many cords as his small fingers could use. There weren't many. He could still feel his father's calloused, but gentle hands pressing his finger tips onto the strings and instructing him to strum. Lessons finished the rest of his guitar training there wasn't much more from his father. When he was seven his father took him fishing. They caught three fish that Puck had insisted on cooking for dinner even though they were probably too small to keep. That night his father disappeared from the tent and even though he screamed and cried he didn't come back till morning and the tears on his cheeks had long since dried. That brought him to age eight, the day of his birthday, two days after his sister was born. There was never any contact after that. Hannah had never really met him and Puck could only remember three times he'd actually talked to his father. So you can imagine his surprise at sixteen when John Ephraim Puckerman walked up the drive and back into his life. _

_Puck wasn't going to pretend he wasn't a screw up, he was. He had made some rough decisions ones mostly made with his dick in mind. Probably why he was currently housing the mother of his bastard child in his bedroom. He was wasn't living with her, no, he was on the couch. His mother knew they'd had sex but she wasn't about to let the two sinners live together. Getting pregnant at sixteen was dumb enough if it wasn't for the fact that Quinn wasn't his girlfriend. That in itself was a forgivable mistake the fact that Quinn was actually his best friend's girlfriend wasn't. The two of them had had sex once, not that he hadn't tried a few more times, but Quinn became the ice queen he'd always figured her for and shut him out. Steal a girl's virginity and suddenly your a social pariah. _

_Something about Finn, his best and only real friend telling him to 'go fuck yourself' the same day his baby momma told him he wasn't good enough prompted him to make a bigger mistake. He'd gone out that night and and knocked over a convenience store ATM using his Mother's Volvo. That was another stupid mistake and he was lucky he wasn't in prison. He was on probation and even though Quinn was living in his house she hadn't spoken to him in nearly a week. His life was basically fucked, so the addition of an estranged and unwanted father was not that far out of left field. _

_His mother didn't talk about John, not after he left, no when he came back promising nothing and holding his little sister in his lap, like he had the right. Abigail Puckerman came home from work, silent, and brooding and her lips would thin when she saw John sitting on the couch braiding his daughter's hair and listening to her talk about Hannah Montana and how she was so much more mature since she entered the third grade, but she never protested it out loud. She never told Hannah to get off his lap. She never kicked John out the door, but Puck could see she wanted to. He tried to ignore every attempt the man made to connect. The punch to the face he'd given his Father on that first day should have been enough to tell John Puckerman Puck had no interest in rekindling any sort of relationship. Quinn, for her current crazy mood swings actually seemed to concerned about him. After dinner, that first night she reached under the table and took his fingers in hers and squeezed. There were no words, no looks, or smiles, but the touch was enough. It meant she didn't completely hate him. _

_It had been two weeks since John walked up the drive with rock music backing his swagger to the porch where Puck was chewing dip and pretending that his heart wasn't racing at the sight of his long lost father. The bastard was still there, still holding Hannah's hand, still tucking her in, and yesterday he saw him pinning his mother against the counter and burying his face in her neck, pulling her close. He'd wanted to punch him for that, for thinking that it was okay, but the way his mother pulled him close, fingers grasping, pleading, begging he didn't have the heart to break it up. That night he holed up his room until Quinn's quiet knocks at the door told him she was ready for bed. _

_When he opened the door she was standing there annoyance etched across her face, but there was a glow, a lightness to her cheeks, a softness to the blond hairs curling along her cheek. He reached for her, needing her, wanting something he couldn't express, but she flinched away from his touch. His hand curled, falling to his side away from her, away from the rejection he should be used to and he ran away despite her voice calling his name. It wasn't like she tried very hard. She didn't follow. He didn't expect her to. _

_He had no where to go. His best friend was no longer that. He couldn't drive without going back to prison and if he tried to get plastered he was going to get caught and thrown into juvie. He couldn't take that, not with Beth on the way. Not when everyone was expecting him to fail. He ended up on the porch head bent between his knees, eyes closed, and breathing deep. He had never had a panic attack before but there was a chance he was close to having one now. His heart was pounding, his chest was aching, squeezing tight on his heart and it was hard to breathe. _

"_You alright?" _

_Puck didn't lift his head, because his eyes were tearing and he didn't want the son of a bitch to see him cry, to see the loser he really was. "Fuck you." He spat between clenched teeth. "And more than that leave my fucking Mom alone. She doesn't need you fucking with her head." _

"_I'm not," he paused and sat down beside him. It was close enough for Puck to feel his booted foot touch his own and he resisted the urge to pull away. He'd rather pretend he didn't give a flying fuck one way or the other. "Here I brought you this, figured you could use it. Just do me a favor and don't tell your Ma." _

_Puck felt the cold bottle settle against his arm and recognized a bottle of beer when he felt it. He wanted to tell him to 'fuck off' again, but he really wanted the beer. Convinced that his eyes were dry enough he snatched the bottle and turned his head while he twisted the lid off and wiped his moist eyes at the same time. He sniffed, took a swig and settled his head back between his knees, bottle dangling. His father was sitting next to him, drinking his own. Silence permitted the heavy night air. He wished he'd never come back. He wished a lot of shit, but none of it ever came to fruition. _

"_I never wanted to leave." _

_Puck couldn't look at him. He wanted to laugh but part of him kinda wanted to cry and he didn't trust himself to have a reaction. He didn't believe a word the man said. Never would. _

"_I didn't have a choice. There was something bigger, bigger than all of you, of this, bigger than what I wanted." He cleared his throat, took another swig. "I know you can't forgive me. I don't want you to. I just want you to know that." _

"_So you won't feel like shit the next time you up and leave." Puck didn't want the beer anymore, mostly because his father had given it to him. "You know fucking Hannah loves you. She's going to cry for months when you split." _

"_I'm not going anywhere." _

"_I don't believe that one." Puck got to his feet clutching the beer by the neck. "We don't need you, and I don't need a Father, or you to be my friend." He chucked the bottle across the yard. "Giving your sixteen year old a beer isn't going to fix shit." _

_John sighed, heavy, and his boot scuffed the porch. Puck rubbed his eyes angrily. "Leave me the fuck alone." _

_There wasn't much to say after that. Puck stood in the yard, staring at the sky until John got to his feet and went inside_

00oo

It was late, too late to be making a phone call home. Puck's fingers shook as she dropped the change into the slot. Curling his hand into a fist, he closed his eyes and waited for the shake to stop. Sometimes it was nothing, sometimes it lasted so long he was ready to cut his own hand off to make it stop. By time the change fell through the machine with a dull clunk his fingers were steady. This time it was nothing. His tips swept over the numbers, and he wondered if his mother would pick up. There was a reason he called late at night, on holidays, or so early in the morning everyone in the house was sleeping.

The phone continued to ring and Puck let the breathe he didn't know he'd been holding escape as the recorded message started to play. His Mom sounded tried, she always did, but there was something about her voice as she asked whoever it was calling to leave a message. The inflection she put on 'please' made his chest clench. The steady calm that he had forced over his shaking hand was waning and something was trembling and quivering through his chest and up his arm. Before he even spoke he knew his voice would shake. The steady beep that followed his mother's voice was met with silence. He couldn't speak to her, not like this, not when something was worming it's way into his chest and into his shaking fingers.

He waited, for nearly a minute, covering the receiver with his hand so he didn't leave the creeper sound of his deep breathing on the other end before he hung up. He'd call back, later, or in the next state, maybe this time when she would be awake. Clenching his fists, he leaned against the cold metal of the cage surrounding the phone. His forehead rolled against the surface and he winced when a recent conversation involving flesh eating bacteria came to mind. He jerked backward quickly and wished for that little tube of hand sanitizer Rachel was always trying to make carry around. Rachel was always making him think about stupid shit he'd never even considered. Sometimes it was useful, but most of the time it was fucking irritating. He rubbed his hand across his face and wondered if he should head back into the bathroom and wash his face again.

"What are you doing?"

Puck turned away from the phone forgetting about the call and all the baggage that came with talking to his family and focused on Rachel. She was standing in front of him, pissed as usual, arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping. If there was a reason for the shaking fists it was Rachel's mood swings. Puck balled his shaking hand and shoved it in his pocket as he narrowed his eyes at the petite girl, still wearing the ridiculously short skirt and knee socks.

"What does it look like?" He asked and he spun on his heel picking up his bag and taking his hand out of his pockets all in one motion. Giving himself something to do always helped. He swung the bag back and forth trying to mask the way his fingers danced over the strap. He could tell she noticed, it was in the way her brow furrowed and her lip slipped between her teeth. He didn't want her pity and he was sure she didn't want his.

"Noah," she paused, like talking to him was taking all her strength. Sometimes he wished she wore out that easily. "I was just," she trailed off and Puck turned away and headed for the car.

"You're driving," he tossed over his shoulder without bothering to look at her.

"Did you talk to her?"

His finger danced and he clenched the bag tighter to push it away. "Didn't call anyone."

She didn't push, she'd learned, and he didn't try to make her talk. When he got in the car he tossed his bag into the back and leaned the chair all the way back. He didn't bother with his seat belt even when Rachel poked him in the side and cleared her throat like talking wasn't necessary. She let it go, after he shut his eyes and ignored her not so subtle attempts to get his attention. He meant to sleep, but he couldn't. Sometimes his mind wouldn't shut off.

00oo

_He was packing his bags. It shouldn't surprise him. He's been waiting for it since the moment John Puckerman came back, but the waiting had turned from weeks to months and Puck was kinda getting used to seeing his Father's face. The other morning the five of them, his mother, Hannah, Quinn, John, and Puck had laughed over waffles and bacon, giggling, happy. Puck had even smiled at his father. He had been wrong to get comfortable, wrong to think John's moving back into his Mom's room was okay. _

"_The fuck are you doing?" It wasn't really a question because knew what he was doing. John Puckerman was bailing. He was proving Puck right and Puck was pissed and hurt. He'd promised. He'd stayed and Puck had believed him. Quinn was getting bigger was talking about possibly keeping the baby. His Mom was smiling. He was starting to like seeing John Puckerman, his Father, around. He'd been such an idiot. _

"_Noah," John paused eyes fixed on the duffel on his Mother's bed. _

_Puck's fists clenched. "Don't, don't call me that. You have no right. What the fuck are you thinking!" He stomped into the room grabbing the bag, tearing it out of his father's hand and dropping it on the floor. He forgot the reason he even came into the room. He'd been excited about a football game, about having his entire family cheering for him. _

_John had the decency to keep his eyes on the ground, away from Puck's smoldering gaze and shook his head. "I don't want to. I'm coming back. I just need to take care of something." _

"_Of what?" Puck asked and stepped in front of his father. The man wasn't much taller, not anymore. He would stop him if he had to. "You're a fucking loser. You can't do this, not to Mom, not to Hannah. I'll kick your fucking ass. I swear you'll bleed out on the floor before you leave them again. I'll fucking kill you." _

_He looked up then, eyes set, hard, hazel beams that froze Puck in front of him. John Puckerman still looked to much like Noah for him to ignore. The resemblance was there in looks and mannerism and it was hard to think that he would be like his Dad. He didn't want to be a Lima Loser. He didn't want to be a quitter, but he'd heard it all his life. He heard every time he fucked up how much like John Puckerman he was. He wouldn't sit by, let his Father leave, let him seal Puck's fate as an asshole. His hands curled into fists and he stepped forward chest pressed to his Father's. His lips tightened, his eyes narrowed, and he stood as close as he could hoping the bastard would fight back. _

"_Don't do this." _

_John didn't back down, didn't look scared. "I don't have a choice." _

"_You do," Puck didn't recognize his own voice. He was shaking with rage. "Make the right decision." _

_John didn't pause but stepped back and around Puck's rigid form. "I am." _

_That was enough. Puck lunged tackling his father to the ground. He may be only sixteen but he'd been waiting for a chance to take on his father for years. He swung first, landed a fist on the older Puckerman's chin before John scrambled back. John wasn't hitting back. Puck pushed harder, punching harder, faster, quicker. He wanted John to fight back. He wanted the satisfying crunch of bone under his fist. He wanted to make John Puckerman sorry. _

_They grappled, Puck hit, Puck missed, but John never landed a blow. Somehow he pinned Puck to the floor hissing, and twisting in an attempt to get up. He was still red with rage, still angry. He tried to pull free, but his Father put his knees on Puck's forearms and pressed. _

"_Stop," ground out, pressing harder. "Stop for a minute." _

_Puck growled, struggling. John pressed harder making Puck hiss despite himself. He still for a moment, long enough so he could catch his breath and fight again. He was going to tear the fucker up. _

"_Listen to me!" John put his hands on Puck's face turning him to meet his eyes. "I'm trying to save you. I'm trying to give you a chance. I thought they were gone, that I could quit." John's eyes widened. "I was wrong. I can't tell you. I can't, but you just need to know I was wrong." _

"_Yeah, well so was I," Puck shot back. "You're just as big a Lima Loser as I thought. I fucking hope you rot you sorry piece of fucking shit. You get off me and I'm going to beat the shit out of you and when you beg me to stop I'm gonna let my Mom take a shot!" _

_John looked like he was going to say something else when a scream reached their ears. Puck stopped struggling. John loosened his grip for a moment everything was silent. The scream reached them again and Puck twisted free. He knew that scream. It was Quinn something was happening. All he could think about was the baby, that he wasn't going to have a chance to prove to his baby girl that he wasn't a waste. John called after him, struggling to his feet, good, but Puck ignored him. Quinn screamed again and Puck redoubled his efforts making his way to the back door and into the yard. _

_There was nothing when he stepped into the night, silence. Quinn wasn't there, no one was. He paused looked to the left and right. "Quinn, Quinn?"_

_Something was wrong. He could feel it tugging at him, pulling him, that panic was back. Something terrible had happened. _

"_Puckerman." _

_The hiss of his name made him turn and when he laid eyes on the mother of his future child he could feel a chill rush over him and before he could stop them tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. Her eyes were closed. She was bleeding, red pooling on the collar of her shirt, dripping onto her raised stomach. Someone was holding her, there finger's wrapped around her slender throat and holding her up right, feet just brushing the cement of the back walk. The attacker was covered in shadow._

"_Quinny?" She didn't answer him. She didn't look at him with her too green eyes. He wanted something, anything even her animosity was better than nothing. _

"_Let her go," His father was behind him, his voice was weak. Puck had done that. It should make him feel good, but all he could see was Quinn hanging limp, and even though it was impossible he swore he could hear his baby girl's heart beat fading away. He stepping toward them, desperate, when his father's hand gripped his shoulder, stopping him. _

"_Puckerman, you coward. I've been waiting for you all night." The shadowed figure hissed and stroked the edge of Quinn's cheek. "I had to get a little dramatic to make you see I was serious." With that he let Quinn go. She crumpled to the ground, unmoving and Puck lunged for her only to have John pull him back. He fought, but it was useless. He called, but she didn't move. The heartbeat was fading. He had to get to her, but his Father was holding him back. Always holding him back. _

0o0o0o0o0

They stopped for food three hours over the Virginia state line and heading into Tennessee. Puck was faking sleep the entire ride and Rachel had to force herself to keep quiet. There were things she didn't want to talk about either. She could respect his need for silence. What she had a hard time respecting was the way he was currently shoveling cheese and chilli covered hash browns into his wide open mouth. He was chewing with his mouth open and she was afraid something was going to fall past his teeth and lips onto his plate, one she was afraid he was going to lick clean when he was done.

"Oh, God, oh," he moaned, it was eerily close to the noise he made when he was having sex. She was a little more grossed out by the fact that she knew that than by the way he was eating, but only slightly. "Fuck, I love The Waffle House." He announced and leaned back into the booth and winked at the waitress carrying a pot of coffee to the table.

Rachel rolled her eyes when the waitress, a fifty something year old woman with too much makeup and terrible at he job, blushed at his comment. She'd keep that bit to herself especially since Puck informed her that all her criticisms did was get her food spit in. She wasn't entirely sure he was kidding about that so she'd tried her best to keep her opinions, no matter how right, to herself.

"My I get another cup of water?" Rachel asked, drawing the waitress' attention away from her current favorite customer. She forced a smile on her face. "I just, this tastes a bit funny and I think maybe the glass might be a bit dirty."

The waitress frowned, obviously offended, though Rachel had done nothing to offend. She was just being honest. She didn't suggest the waitress had been the one to leave the cup dirty, though she probably was. Rachel smiled again when the waitress snatched the glass away, but it was to no effect. Sighing, she watched the woman march away.

Puck snorted, muffled because his mouth was still full. She turned away from the waitress to look at him. "What?"

"She is going to spit a lougee in your water." He laughed and swallowed before shoveling a bite of waffle into his mouth. He was still chewing the hash browns when he did that.

"You're disgusting," Rachel countered. "And she's not. I wasn't at all offensive!"

"Really," he raised a brow, swallowed his mouth full, and started again, "So you didn't think you were being rude when she mentioned they had a nice garden salad on the menu and you rolled your eyes and told her that you weren't interested in exploring the 'less than mediocre menu choices of small town America' and something about the vegetables not being 'organic' and how you were sure she'd agree that the freshness was really questionable."

"I was just," Rachel let her eyes go back to the woman getting her water, but she was already done and walking back to the table. She was smiling too widely. Moments ago she had obviously been angry. Was she trying to salvage her tip, or did she just spit in her drink?

The waitress, a woman Rachel hadn't even bothered to read the name tag for, leaned over the table and set the glass in front of her. Rachel tried to smile, but all she could think about was the spit possibly floating around in her glass and how much Puck was laughing at her. He was going to have to stop so she could get a bottled water from the gas station. Something, anything other than spit and germs and...

"Better?" The woman smiled again. Rachel had taken enough acting classes to know when someone was lying. The woman didn't care if she was better, or even if her glass was clean. She had a feeling there was something questionable and invisible floating in her water.

Rachel nodded anyway unsure how to proceed, "Yeah, thank you." She eyed the glass looking for bubbles or phlegm. She frowned and sat up ram rod straight trying to catch the woman's name while she flirted with Puck and laughed at his lame attempts at charm. She caught a glimpse of the name tag, Shelley, and thought she might try to salvage the meeting and maybe get a new drink, or get the woman to apologize without making an actual accusation.

"No problem." Shelley turned on her heel annoyed at being interrupted and stalked away before Rachel could say anything else. That hadn't gone well at all.

Puck continued to shovel food into his mouth, ignoring her, at least he wasn't laughing and Rachel watched her water. It didn't look weird, but if Shelley was very apt at spitting in customer's drink then no one would be able to tell and she hadn't been watching the girl pour her drink.

"Did she spit in my drink?" Rachel asked poking her lower lip out in a pout. Not only was she going to go hungry because not one restaurant, that was open at the hours the two of them kept, was vegan friendly but she was going to die of dehydration as well. She looked up. Puck grinned, cheeks bulging with un chewed food, appalling.

"Definitely," he whispered, swallowing loudly. He grabbed his glass of soda and drank half before setting it back on the table and letting out a satisfied sigh.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and let out a heavy sigh. "We're never stopping here again."

"Sure," he shrugged. "no more Waffle Houses in Tennessee, got it."

"Ever," she clarified.

Typically he rose to her demand with defiance. "Try and stop me."

Rachel rolled her eyes. She knew to pick her battles. This wasn't one. Instead she pushed her water to the edge of the table, as far away from her as possible, and reached for the small notebook like journal in the large bag at her feet. She was organized, meticulous to the point of being annoying, but there was a reason behind it, a very important one. She ran her hand over the worn leather cover for a moment before pulling it open. She'd already filled three journals in the five months she'd been traveling with Noah Puckerman and this one was on it's way to being full as well. The paper was smooth and flat, perfect, never creased, well except for the time Puck had gotten a hold of it and folded her pages just to piss her off. Not to mention the time he dropped a glob of ketchup on a few pages when he'd been reading over it when she was sleeping. He'd tried to deny it, but she never ate while reading it.

The silk ribbon holding her place slide between her fingers as she pulled it out of the spine of the book and draped it over the back of the brown leather book. Holding the book open, she reached back into her bag for her pen. It was covered in stars. She'd always been attracted to stars. Even if stars were something from her past she had a hard time letting them go.

Rachel leaned over the counter, forearms resting as she read over her last entry, the victims, the source, the information leading up to her failed sting operation. There was a pattern, somewhere. She just needed to find it. The pattern was the only thing that mattered. If she couldn't eat she'd find the missing pieces.

"Did you get to talk to the," she paused, the restaurant was empty but voices had a way of traveling in the silence and more than once it had gotten them into trouble, "to the 'addicts'."

Noah looked up raising a brow at her terminology. "No, I was kind of busy, um, detoxing."

Rachel cleared her throat testily, "that's not part of the plan. There a reason we do what we do."

"Well the va," he paused, "the addicts rushed me the only option was _detox._"

"Were they older, young, what?" Rachel asked trying to salvage the cleansing. She needed some new information.

She knew he didn't want to talk. He hadn't wanted to talk since he tried to call his family. He was tired, obviously. He hadn't slept, but there was things more important than his temperamental nature.

"Listen Berry, I didn't stop to ask for ID. Next time you can ask before I get to chop-detoxing." He leaned back in his seat dropping his fork on his empty plate. He wouldn't meet her eyes probably because he knew he was being an ass on purpose. "Hey, Shelley, sweetheart," he called, ignoring her, "can I get another double order of chili cheese hash browns?"

"Listen Puckerman, we agreed to, this is important, for both of us!" Rachel closed the book and shoved it back in her bag, her pen still clutched in her hand. "I have to figure this out."

"Yeah, sure," Puck leaned on the table whispering low enough for only Rachel to hear. "You have to figure it out and while you're doing that I'm gonna get every sorry blood sucking bastard I come across. I don't really have time to ask questions."

The look between said so much more than words. He wasn't budging and neither was see. She didn't know how long he kept his gaze, unwavering, on her own, but it was a second to much. She really hated him most days. Rachel jumped to her feet just as Shelley came to the table with Puck's order. The two nearly collided only saved by Shelley's surprising ability to stay light on her feet and Rachel's honed reflexes.

"Sorry," Rachel managed to spit out over her boiling rage. She ducked, picking up her bag and stormed out the door.

He was just being difficult. He was always like that, defensive, and hostile and completely unmanageable today was just worse than normal. Her fingers shook as she pushed on the glass door and stepped out into the balmy night air. It was warm, just a hint of the chill of winter nearly faded but hanging on in the air. She would be cold if her blood wasn't boiling. Her bag across her shoulder she paced the sidewalk. Puck was probably watching, the windows were huge, and stuffing his face with his damn chilli monstrosity and laughing at her. It mattered to him too, what she was looking for, what both of them were looking for. Eventually her research would pay off and the two of them would have what she needed, what they both wanted. She just needed his help and as emotionally stunted as he was, she just wanted his help. For someone who was notorious for wanting to keep things light he had a tendency to get personal, you know in a passive aggressive asshole way.

She wanted to scream, but suppressed it. Falling heavily onto the sidewalk she pulled her bag to her chest, inside was everything that meant anything to her at all. Her fingers clutched the bag absently and she leaned forward leaning her weight on the contents.

There were facts to go over. She would got over them slowly, by herself. She would figure it out, alone if she had to. The ten vampires were a large pack, a family as they sometimes like to be called. There were ten older vampires that she counted, four drained, one turned. It was unusual to just turn one. Usually there was a reason but as far as she could tell the girl had been pretty average and the pack was already large. Ten was a big group to keep under the radar, eleven including a newbie was almost impossible. There would be no settling, not for a while, so the pack was used to moving around. They were older, established, note worthy.

Rachel released her iron clad grip on her bag and set it on the ground. She opened it up and pulled out her brown leather journal and rifled through the bag before pulling out a pink striped one, covered in stars. She had been idealistic in the beginning. She wasn't anymore. The pink journal was her first and the pages were crinkled and creased because sometimes she spent hours holed up in hotel bathrooms crying over what she had seen, heard, and done. She was done with stars now, done with idealism, done with tears.

Opening the the pink book she flipped past the glitter covered pages of her first few weeks and raced to the middle there was a link, something she'd seen in the very beginning.

00oo

_Rachel Berry's life was almost perfect. Almost perfect because she knew that even though she could see, nearly taste the goals she'd had her entire life reaching fruition there was still stuff she had to live with got getting. She was willing to overlook it, for now. There was the fact that Glee Club had made it to Nationals two years in a row and still hadn't managed to make the top ten. She was looking past it, after breaking her code of sobriety during a drunken tear fest with her two best friends, Kurt and Mercedes. Kurt had let her cry on his shoulder, patting her back comfortingly and Mercedes had told her it didn't matter because she was going to New York and before she finished school she was going to be singing on Broadway. She'd nodded in agreement and told them they were right. She was talented and better than the teams that won, the fact that they hadn't said that didn't really matter, she could read between the lines. She was going to be a star. There was nothing stopping her. The only thing that might was Finn Hudson. _

_Finn was her boyfriend, her on again off again boyfriend since she'd been a talented and ignored freshman walking the halls. They had their ups and downs. There was the incident with his popularity and her reputation and that entire disaster in which the both of them tried to stay away from each other, but it was destined. She was supposed to be with Finn and she was, now. It had happened again, after Nationals. Finn had kissed her back stage and told her that he still loved her, that he was going to be with her no matter what. Even if he wasn't coming to New York with her. _

_He was going to Ohio State University and Rachel was going to NYU but he was willing to make it work. So was she. They two of them would meet in the big city as soon as Finn could transfer and Rachel had written up a very agreeable schedule that gave them ample time together plus plenty of time to study. She was going to have Broadway and the love of her life. It would be tough, sure, but she had never shied away from a little hard work. So life was nearly perfect and the little things were hardly anything to be concerned about. _

_On the day of Graduation, while she was in front of her mirror trying on her cap and gown and twirling, her phone started to ring. The jewel encrusted case was shaking on her dresser and she twirled one more time. She liking the way her hair brushed the tops of her shoulders and fell down her back in soft calculated waves. Reluctantly turning away from the mirror she picked up her phone. She'd spent a good deal of time on he hair. She wanted to look perfect. She smiled into the mirror and answered the phone while practicing her acceptance smile and thinking about the after party. She was thinking about going all the way with Finn. Her original plan had been to wait until she was twenty five but she was never past a little improve. _

"_Hello?" She asked and pursed her lips at the mirror, thinking of Finn sitting in the chairs in front of her and smiling. _

"_Is this Rachel Berry?" _

_Rachel grinned. Soon everyone would know who she was. "Yes, this is she. What can I do for you?" _

"_I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Miss Berry there's been an accident." _

_Rachel stopped mid spin the hat falling off her head and onto her floor. She stepped over it, biting her lip "Who is this?"_

"_This is Officer Carmicheal. I really need you to come in for questioning and to identify the body." ._

"_The body," her voice dropped an octave and she could feel the tears building in her eyes and her throat was constricting. If this was a joke, a cruel, stupid joke... There were only two people the police would call her about and she didn't think she could live without either being the case. Absently her fingers fell to the locket around her neck, a gift from her Daddies. She clutched it and tried to breathe._

"_Miss Berry do you have someone you can call? This is about your Father." _

"_My," she choked on her words, tears streaming down her cheeks and over her lips in one short breath. "I don't understand. My Father he's not," she swallowed trying to push the ache out of her chest. She needed to speak, to breathe. It took a moment, but when she was finally able to speak she hardly recognized her own voice over the thick, relentless tears._

00oo

Rachel was writing furiously when a hand on her shoulder made her jump. Immediately she dropped her pen, the book falling against her sneaker clad feet. She grabbed the fingers clutching her shoulder, ready to twist them backward and pull away.

"It's me."

She paused, considered twisting anyway, before let his fingers fall back to her shoulder and she shrugged away from him. She picked up her journals immediately and tucked the brown and pink books back into her bag. "Knowing it's you doesn't really make me want to take down the defensive." She got to her feet, refusing to look over her shoulder and headed for the car. It was his turn to drive.

"Yeah well," he paused, feet shifting on the asphalt. "Here."

Rachel turned around eyes widened for a moment at the cup in his hand. It was covered and steaming a bit in the chilled air. It was coffee. It was also a sorry. She had been around the emotionally stunted man long enough to recognize a peace offering. The real question was whether or not she was going to accept it.

"I also brought you a water, bottled." He reached behind him pulling a bottle out of his back pocket and offering it up with his other hand. "The coffees got almond milk in it. I watched her pour it. Read the label. It's safe."

Rachel dropped her bag in the front seat and reached for the water. She untwisted the cap and took a slow sip. She didn't say thank you. She didn't feel like forgiving him yet. She was still my mad he had given her the brush off.

"Look, I figured you could use the coffee. We're going to be up all night driving and you've got shit to write down. Besides those fuckers were old as shit. It staked out the place before I went in. The two in charge weren't who we're looking for, not directly but they were at least eighty, cocky, with too many to take care of. They were sloppy."

"True," Rachel reached out and snagged the cup. It warmed her chilled fingers. She made sure her fingers didn't touch his own. "I thought there was a connection, but I was wrong."

Puck shrugged and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He always did that when he was uncomfortable. "Yeah well let's get out of here."

"Right," Rachel attempted a short smile, but the weight pressing on her chest was too heavy. She hadn't been on the trail for so long and they never got any closer. She dropped the water into her bag, for later and fell into the passenger seat. She pulled out her brown journal and opened it up to the scribbling she'd already done and waiting for Puck's account. His apology was accepted. He knew that even if she didn't any it.

Puck was in the car right after her cranking it and actually pulling his seat belt across his chest. It was another apology. He pulled the gear shift into reverse and paused for a moment. Rachel could feel his eyes on her. He was staring and she could feel the emotion she'd been pushing away bubbling to the surface. She hated crying, especially in front of him.

"We'll find him Rach,"

The shortened moniker just made her eyes tear further and the pages beneath her splayed hands blur. She sniffed uncomfortably and pushed the tears out of her eyes, quickly and harshly. She reached for her coffee cup, afraid to speak.

00oo

_The day Rachel Barbra Berry watched Micheal Blake Berry, her Dad, be lowered into the ground was the worst day of her life, but it had nothing to do with the piles of dirt burring her Dad. It was worse than the news that he was dead. Even worse than telling her Daddy, Hiram James, that Dad was gone when she'd found out and he hadn't heard yet. Hiram was on a business trip. Her fathers hadn't talked in three days, always missing each other and playing phone tag. There were tons of messages, ones she had caught her Daddy listening to while he cried, curled in a ball and pressed against his partner's pillow. Rachel had curled up next to him letting her own tears wet the back of his shirt as she tried to soothe him only succeeding in making herself cry more and her Daddy crying harder. She found out while, her body was still aching with sorrow, that there was something worse than death. _

_The odd thing was she didn't think it could get worse than watching the bulldozer push dirt on top of her father. Worse than the flashes of life gone, of his face, and a scent that would slowly fade away, but when she opened her door that night and her Dad was standing before her, no longer dead, there was. _

_He looked the same, mostly. His skin was rich and dark and the light in his amber eyes was enough to make her gasp and tear up all over again. He wasn't smiling or laughing or reaching for her, but he was _there _and she couldn't speak. He couldn't be real. _

_Her knees buckled and she hit ground hard, sending a jolt up her spine as a sob escaped her throat. He had to be real. She could smell his scent, one she'd forgotten already, wafting threw the threshold. It was life and love and home but he wasn't reaching for her. _

_Her Daddy wasn't so cautious. When he heard her hit the floor and her strangled sob he'd rushed from the kitchen to the foyer. Daddy didn't hesitate to reach for Micheal. Hiram lunged past her frozen form and fell onto his husband's chest. His finger's fisted in his lover's shirt, white and opened backed. It was the shirt he was buried in. Hiram cried, loudly sobbing, kissing, pleading, thanking, all in one breath and all Rachel could do was kneel and watch. Her Daddy, Micheal Berry, was dead. She had identified his lifeless body at the hospital. _

_Her Daddy, whose ashen face she'd cried over just a day ago, didn't hug her Dad back. His hands were slack at his sides. Those long brown fingers that had once held her hand and stroked soothing paths across her wrist. His hands had always brought comfort, peace and strength. Those hands that had always comforted the both of them didn't immediately move to do what had always had been instinct. _

_Micheal Berry shifted, his face barely visible against Hiram's neck. His fingers stroked upward, tips skimming his partner's spine, across his shoulders before resting just so on the nape of his neck. It should have been an intimate, comforting path, but it wasn't. Rachel could feel a chill working over her. Something wasn't right. As she stood, feeling finally rushing into her legs, Micheal tightened his grip. He twisted his hand violently and Hiram Berry, Rachel's Dad; Micheal's love, stopped crying and fell limp and lifeless into the hallway tears still wet on his cheeks. _


	3. chapter 3

**Title: **Take No Prisoners

**Author:** Peanutbutter

**Disclaimer: ** Not mine. :(

**Author's Note:** It took forever, but here it is. There isn't really much here, but back story. I hope you like anyway.

_ Her Dad, Micheal Berry, didn't believe in tattoos. She had come to him to talk about her graduation present. She wasn't going to pretend that she didn't know they were getting her one. She wasn't going to pretend that she wasn't expecting one. They knew her, had raised her, and they definitely knew she expected presents when appropriate. Graduation was a big moment. She knew that in the long run it would just be a foot note, but now, this moment, when Finn was her's and New York was about to be her life she couldn't imagine it getting much better. She was heading done a new wonderful path. She didn't want to ever forget the high she was currently feeling. She wanted to mark it. Mark it with more than her virginity, yes she was going to do it, given to Finn at the big end of the year party and an undeniably bright future. She was thinking of a tattoo. She wanted a small one, on her shoulder, tiny music notes. She just needed permission. _

_ Her Dad was the reasonable one. She knew that it wasn't really a kosher idea but last year they starting putting bacon on their shopping list and no one really complained about it, well she didn't eat meat anyway, but the tattoo was her bacon. She explained it to him, even had a chart and a picture of her tattoo and manipulated picture of herself with her new tattoo. He watched it all in silence. He didn't even crack a smile which was a little disconcerting. When she was done he'd shut her down effectively and completely. It was something he wasn't compromising on. _

_ Her Dad hated tattoos. He hated the permanence. He hated everything about them, even a small music note was enough to invoke his disgust. The said he would never change his stance, but on that long fingered hand she knew so well, the one that was hanging at his suit covered side, there was a tattoo etched into the back of his hand. The skin was angry and red. The tattoo was new. It was a crooked star. She'd always been attracted to stars, but the sight of it burned into her Dad's hand was too much. _

_ Rachel swallowed her mouth suddenly dry but her throat was wet and threatening as spit rushed over her tongue in an angry film. Her legs were supporting her weight, but her knees were shaking. She couldn't move. Her eyes were fixed on that tattoo and out of her peripheral her Daddy, Hiram, was still unmoving right arm stretched toward her, left backward toward his husband, the man with the tattoo. This couldn't be real. _

_ "Rachel, Bunny, come here." _

_ The request was ridiculous and Rachel's eyes snapped from the tattoo to her Dad's face. He couldn't be alive. He shouldn't be. He couldn't be. Tears, too hot, and long alive, pricked her burning eyes. His voice was the same and the reverberating baritone sent a moment of calm rushing over her with it's familiarity, but she looked at his eyes those burning black bowls of empty light and the warmth that his voice coiled in her stomach was pushed away. He smiled lips rushing back over sharp incisors and filed molars. That tattooed hand reached for her, not quite touching the threshold of the door but fingers grasping and beckoning. _

_ "I...I...," She couldn't speak. Her hands were shaking. Her throat was full. Her stomach was a solid block of ice and as he nodded, waving her closer, a pit formed pulling the ice inward. Her mouth filled with spit and her throat closed. There was red on his lips, on the tongue that flick out. _

_ "Bunny, baby," he knelled. His knees didn't pop. They always popped when he knelled. "It's me, your Dad. I've got to tell you something important." He reached for her Daddy his fingers closing over the toe of Hiram Berry's shoe and pulled. His feet were already sticking out the door and inch by inch the rest of him followed. _

_ She scrambled, her bare feet slipping on the hardwood floor as she tried to grab his hand. That outstretched, reaching hand. He was reaching for her. He didn't want to go. _

_ "No," she gasped the bile she'd felt building in her throat was squashed down by adrenaline. She wrapped her fingers around his hand and yanked. "No, what are you doing?" She slid, feet unable to gain traction as he pulled. His eyes darkened further and Rachel wailed pulling with all her might, but her 105 lbs frame was nothing to Micheal Berry._

_ "I'm sorry Bunny, but I'm so hungry. Not for you, baby. You're too special, but him..." he stopped pulling to press his hand to Hiram's back, that had just cleared the doorway. "I've always been hungry for him." _

_ "No, no, no," Rachel pleaded. "What are you doing? Let him go!" She pulled harder her fingers fisted in the cloth of her Daddy's shirt. _

_ Micheal stopped pulling for only a moment and he looked at Rachel, eyes wide, mouth closed. "Bunny," he cocked his head to the side. His eyes flickered, amber, black, "I'm sorry." His hand fisted Hiram's shirt and he yanked. Rachel didn't have time to let go, didn't realize her Dad was so strong. Her feet lifted off the floor and before she could do anything she was flying toward her Dad. Her Daddy fell from her grasp and she watched his body roll around Micheal's grasping hand as he let his husband fly to the wayside and he caught her before she could tumble off the porch and down the stairs. _

_ "Dad," she whimpered watching his lifeless form fall down the wooden stairs, smashing his glasses, his face. His neck twisted around his head flopping oddly off the second step. _

_ "He's dead," her Daddy whispered. "I didn't want to kill him, but they wouldn't let me eat. They wouldn't let me have anyone but him. I had to." It was like a plea and Rachel let her gaze fall on her Daddy. His grip was too strong to pull. He squeezed her arm and yanked her against his chest. "I loved him. I loved you both. I just..." His eyes darkened and he leaned in. Rachel shuddered. Her Dad's breathe puffed across her skin and she felt his teeth on her throat. "I'm sorry Bunny." _

_ She was going to die. Her Dad was going to kill her. Her Dad was a monster. Her eyes shut, it was more deliberate than reactionary. Was it possible for her to be resigned to it, to accept it when just weeks before she'd been thinking about her boyfriend and her life of stardom? There were teeth, piercing, painful. Rachel wanted to push her father away but her hands were slack even when she called on them to fight. _

_ She didn't expect the push, the shove backward that immediately inflamed her ribs and made her gasp for breath that was just out of reach. She flew from her father's arms, his teeth scraping a trail of red along her neck and into the house. Her head smacked the thick oak door and when she opened her eyes things were blurring and spinning. She could barely make out her Dad, fighting with someone. He wasn't as tall as her father, and his skin was paler. He blurred as he moved and she shut her eyes trying to catch him, to catch her father's swinging arms. In college he'd been a boxer. _

_ "Dad?" She whispered confused, relieved, alarmed? She didn't know what she was feeling. _

_ The other figure ducked. He wasn't as skilled as her father, his punches were sloppy, but there was a brutality to the way he swung. He put everything into each punch despite the fact that her father ducked most of them. Shakily, she rose to her hands and knees eyes focused on her Daddy, still unmoving on the porch steps. Just last year he had talked about redoing them. He didn't like the wood. He wanted brick. He had this thing for exposed brick. There was an entire exposed wall in their kitchen where he'd pulled the sheet rock down. _

_ A crash pulled her gaze from her Daddy to the fight. The stranger was pressed against the outside wall and the crash had been his head hitting the light fixture on the right side of the porch. There was glass and blood and she could see that he was blinking away unconsciousness. Her Dad was leaning in. His teeth were so sharp. Micheal was so focused on the blood running down the back of the stranger's head and onto the collar of his white shirt that he didn't see the stranger rooting though his pocket. Before she could scream a warning. She really didn't know who she was screaming it to. The stranger pulled something out and threw it at her Dad. Glass broke, smoke rose from the side of his face where the glass broke. Her Dad screamed and let the stranger go. _

_ Micheal stumbled backward swatting at his own face and the stranger pulled himself upright, shaking his head. There was a growl building in her Dad's throat, inhuman and it echoed through the night. _

_ "There you mother fucker," the stranger mumbled and stepped around the door, over her prone body and into the house. "Give me two seconds and I'm kicking your ass." _

_ He wasn't a man, not really he was young. She couldn't really call him a boy when in infuriated her __when her father's called her 'just a girl', but he was no older than her. She could picture him tossing a football with Finn or singing on a stage. Even with his head shaved into a mo hawk that barely rose off the top of his head he would have fit in at her school. _

_ "Are you okay?" He didn't take his eyes away from the doorway. He was watching her Dad. Micheal was still screaming. _

_ She watched the stranger with the mo hawk, jaw slack and unsure of what to say. She swallowed. There were tears, but she was too tired, too confused to cry. She just wanted to lay down, close her eyes and pretend that none of this was real. She started to do just that, eyes sliding shut when the stranger was in front of her, hands gripping her shoulder's and shaking. _

_ "No, stay awake. I think you hit your head." He was so close she could see the stubble on his chin and cheeks. It wasn't much. He was still too young to grow a full beard, though something told her he might have tried. The thought made her smile, so she did. Finn had been trying for ages to grow a beard, but his facial hair was red nearly blond in some spots and it looked ridiculous. She giggled and touched the line of his jaw. At least the stranger's hair was darker. _

_ "Fuck, yeah you hit your head, shock maybe. That fucker almost killed you." _

_ He's talking more to himself than her. She can tell because he doesn't look at her. He pulls off his jacket, black and simple he puts it around her shoulders and pulls the lapels close after he forces her arms through the sleeves. It's so hard to do. Everything is so hard to do. His eyes are trained out her door. She follows his gaze. _

_ It rushes at her when she sees him slumped over the wood porch steps and the sound of agonized screams reach her ears again. Her Dad...her Daddy. She lurches against the stranger's hold. God, her parents. He holds her and she's caught by his grip on the jacket he forced on her and those tears she forgot about blossomed to life and spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. _

_ "Daddy," she whispered. "Daddy!" The next was louder. He held her tighter and she pulled, tried to pry his hands off her arms. 'Daddy!" He didn't move. _

_ "Calm the fuck down," the stranger bellowed and she slapped at him, finding flesh, rubbing her palm across his cheek, but he held tight. _

_ "Daddy!" She tried to get up but her feet weren't working and he was holding her too tight anyway. She choked. "Dad." The last was a whisper but she still fought. "Dad please." _

_ He was there, in an instant, standing in the doorway, a few feet from her. She could reach for him. She could touch him if the stranger would just let her go. He didn't. Her Dad was still watching her with a blank expression. The right side of his face streamed, bubbling blisters of red marred his perfect brown skin. His eyes were black as coals. When he opened his mouth to speak his teeth were filed points and the sight made her stop her struggle. _

_ "I'm sorry Bunny," he whispered but the grin that followed said he wasn't really. Before her eyes he narrowed his gaze at the stranger and walked to the edge of the porch. He picked up the lifeless body of his former lover, Hiram Berry. With a quick wrenching motion he turned the head and bit into the body. Red pooled and ran down his neck. Black rushed over her as she watched and then there was nothing. _

0o0o0o0

She was having a nightmare. She could tell because every time she turned around and tried to go back the way she'd come she was back in the same place. Not to mention she had this dream a lot. She didn't bother calling for Puck, he was never there, or if he did show up he disappeared when she turned toward his welcoming voice. It was always the same and she was always alone.

She wasn't in a room, not just one lone room but a warehouse lined with doors. It didn't make sense because above every door was another and they reached to the ceiling where they wooden doors continued to multiply until they covered the ceiling. The doors were all the same and every one that she could reach led to the same place, back where she stared, to the warehouse with all the rooms. There was no escape.

Every time she tried she became frantic and panicked, but this time she stood amidst the doors, waiting. In a moment one of them would open. She closed her eyes trying to push the panic away when she heard the creak. Unconsciously she opened her eyes and turned toward the noise. He was stepping out, still dressed in that suit, his tattooed hand clutching the frame. His foot clanked as if he'd hit solid ground, but he floated above her. She couldn't help the tears. He smiled, pointed teeth and black eyes. Rachel screamed.

"Wake up, wake up."

Rachel sat upright, Puck's soft voice barely recognizable over her own screams. She hated dreaming, hated waking up like this, with a scream on her lips that she couldn't silence. She wailed for a moment longer while he reached for her fingers pulling her close rubbing her hair, ghosting touches that did little to calm the panic. The panic didn't fade, but her voice did. She ran out of air and she clamped her mouth shut. The panic was bad, but screaming was worse. She closed her eyes her body stiffening even as Puck pulled her closer, pressing her to his chest.

Her fingers curled against him seeking the warmed skin she felt through his shirt. Her other hand became slack falling to his lap. The coarse fabric of his jeans greeted her fingers. He always slept in his clothes after a hunt, like he was afraid they had missed someone and would be attacked during the night. The only thing he took off was his shoes. She still couldn't breath afraid that opening her mouth would let loose another scream. Her heart pounded in her chest and her lungs burned but she couldn't let it go. She couldn't just breathe.

"Rach, baby, you have to breathe."

His voice was soft, softer than he ever was when she was awake or even when they were just talking. He pressed her closer his free hand pressing on her chest near her heart. He breathed deeply letting her feel his breaths. Her eyes watered, things were blacking.

"With me, this time. Rach, you gotta..." He shifted her, or tried, she was clenched so tight she didn't think he'd be able to. Her fingers were locked on his shirt on the leg of his pants, but he twisted her fingers loose and pressed them to his chest a few inches above her previous hold.

She was slumping, blacking out. She was getting sick. She hated getting sick. Her fingers curled, over his heart. She could feel the steady beat in her palm.

"You feel that. I know you can. You can feel it beating, feel me breathing." He took a deep breath letting it blow out against her cheek. It was warm and it still smelled like the mint toothpaste he'd brushed with.

She lifted with him and just when she thought it was hopeless, useless her mouth opened in a whimpered sob. She didn't scream, but she wailed, slumping and pulling in gulps of air as tears rolled down her cheeks. He held her tighter his hand pressing over her shaking fingers and holding it to his chest.

"It's fine now, you'll be fine."

"Noah," she moaned and curled into herself, but he didn't let go.

0o0o0o0

"I bought you breakfast!"

Puck's eyes shot open widening as a paper bag smacked him in the chest. It was more her voice than the bag that woken him. He didn't sleep much the night before. He never did when Rachel had one of those dreams. Blinking, he sat up running a hand over his shaved head and feeling the length of his mo hawk run through his fingers. He really needed to trim that up it was starting to fall sideways instead of up and the back was curling. He hated his curly hair.

"I'm vegan, as you know," she started and Puck tuned her out as he reached into the bag and pulled out a egg Mcmuffin. The chick seriously knew just what he needed. Now if she had a bottle of Jack in that huge ass purse she carried around he was going to marry her, legit. He bit into it, moaned and fell backward while he chewed and tuned back into her running commentary.

"I finally found a butter substitute at this little store like four blocks from here. It was pushed to the very back. I think it even had dust on the lid, but the expiration date was fine so I just brought it up to the counter and..."

Puck watched her, not really listening, but that wasn't so unusual. He didn't listen to half the shit she said. She looked alright, pacing in front of him, made up as perfectly as always, hair curled and pushed back with a brightly colored head band and rocking a short ass skirt that he'd be able to look up if he angled his head just right. He took another bite and dug into the bag for his hash brown. He would, look, if it wasn't for the fact that she was twisting her fingers as she talked. Usually she was flinging her arms around, animated and a complete hand talker. He'd wondered on several occasions whether or not she'd actually be able to talk if she lost the use of her hands.

"They refused to give me a discount even though it was clear that the attendant..."

She rambled like she was fine. She dressed like she was ready to go skipping through the park, but those twisting turning hands and the red flush to the skin of her arms told him otherwise. Sometimes when the dreams were too much or the clearing was too brutal she'd get in the shower and turn the water too hot for anyone to stand and let the spray wash over her. Her skin was scalded by time she got out and the red blister of heat stayed on her for the rest of the day.

She wasn't fine. He knew that without asking, but he wasn't either. As if to remind him his hand started to shake as he shoved the lost of his hash brown into his mouth. Rachel turned to face him hands on hips like she was waiting for something. She might have turned the conversation to actually include him while he was stuffing his face and thinking. He couldn't tell her he had been wondering if she was alright. She didn't like to talk about it and even though he'd like to tease her about secretly wanting all up on him there really wasn't anything funny about those dreams and the desperate hold she always had on him afterward.

She tapped her foot, lip worrying between her teeth and even though it was a struggle her fingers pulled away from each other and each hand rested on a hip, though the dug in more firmly then they should have.

"Well," she questioned.

Puck opened his mouth belching loudly and grinned as her eyes rolled back. "Fuck, that skirt does make you look fat. You should change."

"I, I didn't even," Rachel's hands smoothed down the front of her skirt and she growled as she turned around, totally flashing panties, but her hands were waving when she looked at him again and even though he didn't get half the shit flying out of her mouth he was happy to see those hands talking again.

0o0o0o0

_This chick, legit, was driving him fucking nuts. He'd already gone above and beyond for her. A chick fucking passing out his lap wasn't all that fucking unusual, but the fact that his lap was all she had was. He only knew that because the fucker that had turned the chick's Dad was the bastard he'd been tracking for months, and he would have had him if it wasn't for Rachel Barbra Berry. _

_ He'd been ready to follow the trail the asshole was always leaving when the town exploded with vampires. It was like the asshole set off a bomb that threw a bunch of blood sucking mother fuckers into the air. It was a distraction and if he was more of the heartless asshole his father had tried to mold him into he would have told the town to fuck it self. _

_ He couldn't. He stayed. The vampires were everywhere, guide-less and hungry. People were dying in the streets every night, sometimes during the day masked in shadowed alleys. In-direct sunlight was as bad as night. He lost three weeks of tracking cleaning up that mess and all he got out of it was a lead that left him with Rachel Berry. _

_ Her father was attacked and tagged, a crooked star on the back of his hand to match the mark seared in his maker's neck. He was never put in the ground. Puck knew that for a fact because he spent one horrible night digging six feet down to reach the guy's coffin. It was empty, probably always had been. It was interesting the things people just let slip. Whatever was planned for Micheal Berry was different. Makers didn't tag nobodies and the hoard he'd let loose on Lima, Ohio was full of nobodies expect for the Berry guy. _

_ Other than the fact that Micheal Berry liked to fuck dudes there wasn't really all that much to to him. He was married. He didn't cheat. He owned a Prius and him and his husband could be described in one word, boring. A boring as hell lawyer and an even more boring English Professor at the local college. The only thing they'd managed to do was produce a hot, but shallow daughter. Not that he judged too much. Shallow was okay. He was kinda shallow himself. He did like watching her hot little ass on stake out, but all the perving he could have done was screwed up by her constant crying. Yeah, mourning, heart broken, sad chicks weren't really spank bank material. _

_ So when Micheal Berry showed back up at the Berry household he'd been taking a break to get a sandwich. He had been watching her house for two days and he was hungry. He just drove away for like an hour and when he got back there was a horror movie playing out on her porch. Her other Dad was dead and Micheal was trying to eat his daughter. It was sick. _

_ The fight wasn't all that epic. The dude hit like a professional and there might have been a moment where he had to pull out the holy water, which was a last chance 'i'm about to die' move, but it didn't really make sense. Well vampires eating their family made sense, but the tag didn't. The guy who tagged Micheal Berry didn't do that shit for no reason and all the guy had done was go home and try to kill his family. _

_ So he felt sorry for her because he'd fucked up and went to get a sandwich when he was supposed to be watching her house, protecting her. He didn't sign up to protect people, not really, but he was sick of seeing people die He'd kinda dropped the ball with her. He took care of her. Helped her a bit, explained the whole vampire thing and what did he get for his good deed? _

_ Puck looked out his rear view mirror and cursed. She was there three cars back in her dead father's Prius, following. He ditched in her every town, but she kept at it insisting that she could help him, that she would help him. He didn't need a side kick. He didn't want one, but the further he got from Ohio and the faster he drove the closer she got. He had no idea how she was finding him and he sure as hell wasn't going to believe her own explanation that she was 'a little psychic'. That was bull shit. Vampires, demons, sure, but the psychic network being real he couldn't wrap his head around that. _

_ He swerved into the exit lane at the last minute cutting off cars and making a few honk their horns and swerve. He grinned when she swept past the exit. All he needed to do was hide out for a bit and he'd get back on the interstate, bam, crazy girl gone forever. He didn't smile for long when he heard crunching metal and more honking horns. He looked over his shoulder to see that little Prius u-turning on the interstate and nearly getting run into by a semi. Someone had swerved and crashed into the guard rail and Rachel Berry was speeding back down the interstate going the wrong way. She whipped in behind him just as he made a left and pulled into a waffle house. _

_ He let his head fall onto his steering wheel and he let out a long breath. She pulled in beside him and waved, smiling like everything was fine. They were going to have to ditch the Prius. There was no way someone hadn't called the cops on her not to mention Prius's were for pussies and there was no way he was ever driving one. He didn't care how good they were for the environment._

_ He didn't lift his head but waved her over She opened his door and tossed her bag over the back of his seat. She slammed her door. He still couldn't believe this was happening. _

_ "You won't regret this," she told him merrily. "I'm very useful and a fast learner. I've can't wait to get to the slaying." _

_ Puck groaned. "You're not Buffy," he deadpanned. "You aren't slaying anything." _

_ "I suppose you're right. You are more like Buffy in this situation, the male Slayer. The chosen one." She laughed._

_ "Oh god," Puck groaned. "I fucking change my mind, get out." _

_ She reached across the seat and swatted him on the arm. He looked up sharply when her hand didn't immediately retreat. He didn't like to be touched, you know unless you were a hot chick pulling his pants off and promising to fuck him stupid. He glared at her hand but she didn't withdraw it, oblivious to his discomfort. _

_ "Oh stop," she responded but, thankfully, pulled her hand back. Leaning back in her seat she reached into her enormous purse and pulled out a notebook, it was pink with sparkles, and flipped it open. "Now is not time for joking." She produced a pen and titled the page 'Vampires: Fact and Fiction' "I need to know everything you do if I'm going to help you find the vamp that," she seemed to loose steam for a moment but she swallowed and crossed her legs, "that murdered my father and your..." _

_ Puck cut her off by cranking the car. He had a feeling that this had been a very, very bad idea. _

_ Rachel cleared her throat and sniffed. "You should really put on your seat belt." _

_ Yeah, he was sure now. This was a big fucking mistake. _

**Tell me what you think.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but this story line**

**Title: Take No Prisoners**

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading even if it takes forever for chapters to come out. My inspiration has been zapped a little. The spoilers for Glee are kind of depressing on the Puck/Rachel front, but that's what fanfic is for so here goes. **

**Anyway read of this a bunch, but I'm sure I missed stuff. Feel free to point it out. I'll work on it for the next chapter. Thank You for the reviews!**

0o0o0o0

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><p>Rachel was putting up 'the board'. Puck groaned, dramatically and loudly when he walked through the door and saw her up on her tip toes tacking things to the wall. He fell into the single chair in their tiny two bed hotel room, and let his head fall onto the wooden table in front of it. Rachel continued to tack, humming some inane tune under her breath that Puck was sure he'd recognize if he listened to it long enough. The sad thing was he was sure it wasn't a song he would want to admit to knowing.<p>

"Really," Rachel said, pausing in her humming long enough to acknowledge his walk in, "and you call me dramatic?"

Puck lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. "I realized, a long time ago, the only way to communicate with you was to moan and whine and all around turn into a little bitch about things." He countered more pissed because she was kinda right.

Rachel didn't respond to the taunt, not so typical.

"The board is essential. It's helped us more than once to figure things out."

Puck watched her shove a tack into the map, a red one. He knew that was an attack. Next to the red tack was an article and tied to it a fucking string. If you let your eyes wonder over the entire cluster fuck it was enough to give you a migraine, or you know cry, there were a lot of dead people on that board. He hated that board. It reminded him how much he wasn't getting done. It was like a huge 'fuck you' board.

"Where have you been?" Rachel's voice wormed its way into his thoughts and he looked at her. She's better now, better than the night before when the nightmares kept them both awake. She pushed another tack in. "I figured we could do some recon but you were gone when I got out of the shower."

"I was scouting out some dumps near the designated attacks. I was trying to find where they're holed up." Puck answered and watched her wrap purple string around the end of one particular red tack. She stretched the string and looped it over four more red tacks very close to one another and three below the first five.

"Find anything?"

That was rather subdued. He was expecting more of a 'what the fuck' response. He shrugged even though she wasn't looking at him and leaned back in his chair. "Nothing is really going on in the daylight and vampires are getting a little better at covering their tracks. It had to happen eventually."

Rachel didn't respond but kept at the board. She was finished with the tacks for the new case and was tacking the articles, with flat gold tacks, underneath red tacks and purple string. The eight deaths had all happened in the last twenty four hours. There had been five the first night, times and locations all similar, and three on the second like the killer was loosing steam. The location didn't change more than a few miles from each attack and even though they all had similar injuries the times of death were too close to pin on one person. It had to be a group, or a singular vampire. They could travel way faster than a normal human being. Most police officers didn't dabble in the supernatural. Vampires weren't on the suspect list, ever.

"Well all the more reason for us to go together." She turned around, clapping her hands happily and smiling. "Besides I'm finished here and if I make my way to the library I can check out the old newspapers before dark." Those slim fingers fell to her hips and she looked at him expectantly. "You coming."

Puck groaned and fell out of his chair onto the floor, faking sleep, or death, or both. "Can't," he mumbled with his cheek pressed against the stiff carpet. "I'm too tired. I need to sleep if I'm going to be able to get anything done tonight."

"Fine," she shrugged and Puck watched those tiny hands fall to the side, nonplussed, and so not herself. "You sleep I'll take care of the research part. I be there's a connection here. I can feel it." She walked toward him and Puck rolled onto his back hoping she'd step over his head and he get a peek up her skirt. Instead she stepped around his prone form and walked over his splayed legs. "I'll be back later."

He watched her go, eyes lingering on the way her too short skirt twirled around the top of her legs. "Bring me back dinner!" He yelled and let his head fall back on the floor. It hit with a dull thud and Puck considered getting off the floor and crawling into bed but he really was fucking tired. Between driving and Rachel's night terrors he hadn't had a good night sleep in a week. This morning's recon was just too much. He needed to sleep. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment. In a minute he'd roll over and get in an actual bed.

The knocking actually woke him up. He didn't even realize he'd actually fallen asleep, but the way his neck was killing him, a dull hard ache that rushed down his spine, and there was a drying run of drool down the side of his face he'd been sleeping hard. It wasn't just the light knocking of the maid that he could dismiss with a roll of his eyes, plus he had a tag on the door that said 'do not disturb'. The knocking was loud and insistent. In fact just him blinking and rolling over made the knocking louder.

"Open up!"

That voice, like a blast from the not so distant past. He rolled to his stomach and tried to still his nerves because there was only one reason that voice would be raining down on him. Putting his arms under his body he lifted himself, once, twice, before bouncing to his feet and running his hand through the curling hairs of his mo hawk.

His t-shirt had bunched around his waist while he was sleeping so he pulled it down as he pulled the door open to reveal the one and only. He smirked and leaned against the door jamb. She crossed her arms over her ample, fake, chest and smirked right back.

0o0o0o0

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><p>The research was kind of a bust. She'd refused to use the fake ID that Puck had made her making her a government agent. She hated lying, well when she could help it and she already knew that their money was coming from less than legal means. She didn't ask too many questions, but when the names changed on the cards he was constantly dropping onto hotel counters like the spin dial on a board game she knew they were stealing. She knew there was just a matter of time before someone caught on, but she trusted him in that he would keep them safe. He had been doing it for a long time, taught by his Father, and he was good at what he did.<p>

When getting information on murders, mysterious and grisly murders there really wasn't any other way to get the inside information. Puck had told her one time to try using what 'God had given her'. She'd smiled, of course there was so much to chose from, her mind, her voice, her acting, but he'd simply looked her up and down and smirked. He was a neanderthal, really.

She wasn't good at it, being seductive, sexy. She'd tried a few times. Seducing a police officer hadn't even been her first attempt. There was a fabulously planned strip tease in her senior year of High School that had ended with the intended target withering in laughter, not pleasure, or even a hit of being turned on. She'd tried it a few time, with Puck's encouragement, aka a slap on the ass and a wardrobe he'd picked for her.

The clothes were tight and uncomfortable and even though she looked in the mirror and could see how hot her body looked in those clothes she couldn't get comfortable. The result of that was weird faces she couldn't keep herself from making. She didn't mean to. She'd like her lips and widen her eyes, run her hands over her hips, but she couldn't do any of that without winking, oddly, or giggling, or snorting, none of which were very sexy. To his credit he didn't laugh, always tight lipped and his eyes dark and staring. He moved her, shook her shoulders. He talked to her, tried to coach her. It was too much for her to take. It never worked out.

Her first real attempt flawless, really if the clerk at the magistrate's office hadn't been gay and completely uninterested. He'd 'tisked', shaking his head, and told her she was trying too hard. The second attempt didn't even count because when she was sauntering, she'd practiced in those damn heels for hours, into the police station she slipped on the wet floor and fell. Her skirt had fallen around her waist flashing panties, a plus if they hadn't been covered in little smiley faces and the fall hadn't knocked her unconscious.

Puck had met her at the hospital later, claiming she was his sister. When she wouldn't supply a name, or age they thought she had amnesia. She couldn't tell them she was Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry was one of those missing girl's posted on the internet. She left the hospital with a new name, a bruised head, ass, and ego. They didn't try the seduction thing again.

The library was her only real source while 'Special Agent Anderson' was sleeping. The papers didn't give her much. They left out the details. The people weren't linked, that she could tell, a varying number of male, female, child, adult, but the murder's all happened in the last few weeks. They all had blood loss and neck injuries, that was as specific as they go. She needed to know more. She needed those police reports to check out the details of the bodies. She needed her 'FBI' agent.

Rachel closed up her notebooks, grabbed her copied articles and headed back to the hotel early. It wasn't dark yet, but they had to reach the police station at a decent hour. Not to mention she needed the next few hours of daylight to create her character. Even though she hated the lying she loved the acting. She had to create a character, something believable and a background for Puck and herself. The way to successful infiltration was a verifiable story. She needed at least an hour to get into character and create their partnership and get her rarely used ID. She wasn't sitting this one out. She was going to have to see those pictures first hand.

The best way to butter Puck up when he was tired or in a bad mood was easy. He just needed food and booze and sex. The food she could get him, though it involved her being in the car with the vomit inducing smells of charbroiled meat for at least fifteen minutes. She might not make it. The booze was a no. She didn't need him drunk, but she could buy him a six pack after the hunt and drive the both of them out of town while he drank. Despite his claim that he worked just as well with a few beers in him, they needed to appear professional. The last, well the last was something she was certainly not giving him, or offering, or ever would consider. So food it was. One out of three with the promise of two later would have do.

Armed with a dripping, vomit inducing cheese burger smothered in cheese and covered in bacon Rachel walked up the hotel stairs trying to keep from breathing through her nose. She didn't want to smell it, all those poor animals butchered and put between two hunks of bread. She shouldn't even be holding it. Making a face, Rachel slid the hotel key card into the lock and waited for the red light to turn green before pushing the knob down. Right when she was shoving the door open and about the announce her arrival, she heard it.

Well, it seemed he would be getting all three. One and three now and two later. She dropped the sandwich, probably getting grease on the floor and making the disgusting sandwich fall apart, and pushed the door a bit. She heard it again, a moan, a groan, a mumbled name. The, he was, he was, in her room even after she'd had a fit last time he'd done it. She pushed the door open slamming it into the wall loudly as she stomped into the room. She might have stepped on the burger, something slid under her foot and she ignored it and turned on the light.

"I can't believe!" She started but stopped when she actually took the time to let her eyes adjust. They weren't under the covers. He was naked and there was a naked girl, and, she turned around when her breath caught in her throat and her eyes locked with a very naked and very, aroused Noah Puckerman. The last time they'd been under the covers. She hadn't seen anything before and worse yet this wasn't some random girl. How was it worse when she knew just who he was screwing? She covered her eyes trying to block it out.

It was too late. God, why did it have to be Santana, again. She figured the Latina was gone, for good, but she had been stupid to think that. Santana had been around much longer than Rachel had.

The Latina's voice cut through her thoughts and even though her eyes were closed she could still the girl sneering at her. "Berry, you gonna join, if not get the fuck out!"

"Santana," Puck started, "don't..."

His sentence ended in a grunt and Rachel didn't want to know why. She hung her head and walked toward the door, waving her hands frantically so she wouldn't have to open her eyes. The girl's voice followed her as she grabbed the knob, forgetting the key card and the sandwich and her plan to head to the police station.

"Fine Berry come back, you know I like a little," Santana squealed at the end of the sentence and laughed. It shouldn't hurt that he was laughing too, but it did. She pulled the door open and slammed it shut.

A cool breeze rushed over the banister and hit her in her flaming, bright red with embarrassment, face. She knew he had sex. That shouldn't be the shock, and wasn't, not really. If she was honest with herself it had more to do with Santana. If Rachel had ever considered herself an arch nemesis type of girl Santana would be it. She hated everything the Latina stood for, said, did, and worse of all the way Noah just did whatever she wanted him to. All of her visits were spiced with trouble and drama and last time had nearly gotten the three of them killed. He'd sent he packing, eventually. The problem really laid with the week she'd spent a week watching them fight, and kick her out to have sex, and completely screw up everything Rachel was trying to do. The Latina belittled her practice, her skills, her conviction, her organization. The brunette even went through her journals and color coded folders. The folders were color coded documentations of every case her and Puck had seen, of her father, of Quinn.

She'd nearly tackled Santana when she confronted her about one file in which she'd replaced very 'the' with the word 'penis'. She'd moved stuff around, pictures, stories, backgrounds, drew mustaches on the victims faces. It was completely uncalled for and disrespectful and when she taken it to Puck, raging and screaming, he'd been no help. He'd read the revised recount and laughed like a twelve year old while he nearly fell out of his chair. It had taken her months get it back in order. Puck was just oblivious. Santana's insults were shrugged off, or laughed at. He called her his closest friend. He hadn't pushed Santana away until it was nearly too late. Rachel thought it was the end of Santana Lopez, but here she was, screwing him, the both of them, again.

She didn't get too far, not with her car keys still on the floor of the hotel before he was jogging up behind her. It was too long though for him to have stopped, pulled on pants and come after her immediately. Obviously he'd finished. Her cheeks flamed and even though she had no reason to she felt so cheated for seeing that, her behind him, him just completely 'ready'.

She hugged her arms around herself and tried to push the image away. She'd never done that, not even with Finn. After, everything with her Father losing her virginity seemed unimportant. Finn noticed her pulling her away. He tried to hold on to her. He tried to comfort her, but she couldn't confide in him. How was she supposed to turn his world upside down? She couldn't. It was easier to push Finn away and follow Puck. She needed closer to move one and Puck was the only one who could help her achieve it. When she'd gone to tell Finn goodbye he didn't know it was the end, that they'd never see each other again. He was supposed to be her first, her only one. It was stupid to think about him now, months later when all of 'that' was supposed to be over. Tears were building in her eyes and make her cheeks flame even more. She didn't know why she was crying and Puck picked that moment to jog up behind her, breathing heavy from the run. She couldn't even wipe her face, for fear that she'd give herself away. She wanted to block out his voice just like she wanted to block out he sight of him behind Santana. Was it weird to remember her head pillowed on his chest just a few night before? To think of him every being as aroused for her as he was for Santana. The stray thought was enough to make her hot cheeks flame and more tears well in her eyes. She felt so stupid on top of running away. She shouldn't be crying or embarrassed. It was just, it was just sex!

"Berry, wait up."

He didn't touch her and she didn't stop walking. She needed to be alone, but her only place to be alone was the hotel and 'she' was there and the two of them had just... Her face heated, her chest clenched with her fists. She felt stupid for crying, for being embarrassed, and letting that bitch get to her again.

"God, Noah," she breathed and tried to ignore her gravely voice, but she couldn't keep it in and he would keep following her until she answered him. She swallowed and pushed the tears back and wiped her hand over her face before she spun around. She didn't care that he saw her. She just wanted to get this over with, whatever it was, and be alone. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just," he stopped walking, stopped advancing, a hand was outstretched to touch her shoulder before he shoved it back in his empty pocket to match the other, pulling his jeans down a bit. His shirt was riding up and with his hands pulling the jeans down she could tell he didn't have any underwear on. Not so uncommon, but now all she could see was him naked, looking at her. His expression then, now, she just couldn't read either. She knew she was bright red but she refused to turn away or acknowledge it.

Thankfully he had gained some tact over the last fifteen minutes because he didn't mention her bright cheeks. "I'm sorry, okay," he shifted his feet. "I know you hate her, but she's always been..."

..._a bitch, a whore... _She could go on. She widened her eyes hoping the tears were gone and letting the wind dry them out, but all it did was make her want to blink and water puddle at the bottom of her eye threatening to spill over.

He shifted uncomfortable enough to avoid her eye. It made her feel like she had the upper hand.

"She's always just been there."

That was supposed to appease her? Did he miss Santana's hateful glares, the insults, the way she always belittling everything Rachel did, or tried? She'd been dealing with people like Santana her whole life, but something about the Latina made everything more real, too much.

Rachel rolled her eyes and sniffed. "Please, that's all you have to say."

"Look," he started, sighing and pulling his hands out of his pockets to hitch his pants up, _thank god_. "We didn't really plan on that. She was sitting on your bed because I was on mine and then we started talking," he shrugged, like the two of them just fell onto each other, naked, "you know it's been a while. We shouldn't have done it on your bed, but I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

"My," she swallowed. She hadn't even noticed they were on her bed when she walked it. That sank, on her bed, naked! She narrowed her eyes. "My bed!"

He flinched. "Yeah, um I figured it was why you stormed out. Don't worry you can have my bed and, uh I already got Santana to go to house keeping for more sheets, so everything is good."

"Right," Rachel couldn't make her lips soften or her eyes break from the dagger glare she was sending him. "All better." She turned around again and started walking. She needed to get away. "How long is she staying." He was following, slowly and softly behind her, but still waiting for something.

"Don't know," he answered and kicked something. It skidded down the sidewalk and Rachel spied the deli she'd considered stopping at earlier. They had a fabulous looking chef's salad on the menu and even though she wasn't hungry, at all, she needed something to distract her. "She has news."

"About what," Rachel paused, not reaching for the door, hoping he'd turn around and leave her alone.

"I asked her about the tattoos the last time she was here."

He was right behind her, waiting. He was planning on coming in with her. "You told her," her fingers wrapped around the handle, but she didn't pull. She stilled her voice despite her fast beating heart. "You told her about my Father's?"

"Yeah, well she already knew about Quinn. I had to tell her everything if she was going to get us anything that was useful. She needed everything to dig in and help us."

Help, Help, Rachel turned around smiling widely. It was a fake smile, so fake, but her heart was breaking a little. Santana shouldn't know, know everything that happened between them. Some of the things Rachel had done, said... She didn't want Santana ever knowing that much about her.

"That's great, really. You go back get the info and I'll bring dinner. You have my cell if you need to call in Santana's order. I know what you like," She shrugged. "Forget about earlier. I was just, It's been a long day. You give me your bed and change the sheets and everything is will be fine."

He cocked a brow. Apparently her smile was a little too blinding or her voice a little too high. She adjusted both. "Besides if her news is good we'll have to jump on it immediately which means finishing here as soon as possible. I've got some stuff to tell you and we'll have to find that nest tonight so we can move. We need food to go on. So you go. I'm good here and we'll meet back in," she looked at her watch, "an hour."

"Yeah," Puck stepped back and turned on the ball of his foot. "See ya in few, Berry."

"Puck," Rachel called as his departing form, "don't forget to call me with her order." He waved over his shoulder, not even commenting. Rachel let her smile fall when the deli door shut behind her.

0o0o0o0

* * *

><p>Things were tense. Normally he ignored shit like that. He didn't have time for it. Then again he should have figured it would only be tense when Santana showed up. The two girls hated each other. Plus there was the whole 'Rachel walking in on them while they were having sex on her bed' thing. Puck looked over his cheeseburger at the glare Santana was sending Rachel''s way. His eyes flicked to Rachel. Her face was eerily similar to the Latina's. It was almost enough to give him indigestion. He looked at his bacon cheeseburger and took another bit, he did say almost. A bit of mayonnaise dripping down the back of his hand. Absently he licked the stream off his finger. When he looked up both girls were looking at him.<p>

"What," he mumbled his mouth full.

"There was something really homoerotic about that." Santana dead panned and stabbed a bit of lettuce with her fork.

Puck narrowed his eyes. "Fuck you, San. Want me to remind you how homo I'm not?" He shot back and took another bite his other hand grabbing his crotch.

Rachel ignored him and focused on Santana. Sometimes it was nice to have a buffer. Usually she'd be all over him for a comment like that. "Santana I really don't appreciate your cavalier and insensitive comments on homosexuality. "

Ignoring them both he went back to eating.

"Actually I don't give a fuck that your Dad's were faggots," Santana cut her off. Her voice never rose. Puck swallowed afraid to look up. He shoved a load of fries into his mouth afraid there was a fight about to break out and he'd loose his dinner.

"That's it I've had it with you. You bitch!" Rachel was on her feet. Puck grabbed the Styrofoam container holding his dinner and pushed his chair back from the tiny hotel table and away from the two girls. There was a time when he would have been worried that Santana would kill the Rachel, no contest. Things were more evenly matched now. Even if Santana didn't know it Rachel was pretty good at hand to hand. He grinned around his last bite of burger. This was going to be an epic fight.

"Oh, cool it Broadway faggots or not I don't give a flying fuck." She stood matching Rachel's stance from the other side of the table. "The only reason your father's are of any interest to me is because one of them happens to be a soulless killing machine."

Rachel was legit growling and Puck wondered if there was a chance he could grab the croutons Rachel had plucked off her salad and laid to the side without losing an eye, or a finger. Before he could sneak in Rachel lunged. Santana dodged her, grinning, the psycho, Puck reached over the tiny brunette to snag the croutons.

Over the clatter of plastic forks and canned soda's hitting the floor and Rachel's ridiculous snarls Puck closed his hand on the crunchy garlicky goodness. He was scooping them up just as Rachel turned her crazy eyes on him.

"What?" He asked. "I wanted your croutons."

"And you didn't think to ask instead of pinning me to the table! Get off me!"

She was being dramatic. He wasn't pinning her, but to be an ass he leaned into her back a little. "You mean like this?"

She bucked her hips lifting him enough to make him loose his grip on the croutons. He watched them fall to the carpet and figured the five second rule still applied when Santana dropped the bomb on them.

"When you guys are done dry humping the table I need to talk about the real reason I'm here. I found him."

They both paused, Rachel in bucking him off and him in climbing over her to get the dropped croutons.

"Who?"

Rachel's voice was so soft Puck scrambled backwards thinking he might have smashed her under his weight. He turned to look at Santana. Santana was pulling a bandage off her arm, just over her wrist. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

"You're Father, Broadway. He gave me this," She pulled the bandage off revealing a jagged bite mark. "The bastard nearly killed me."

Rachel was in her chair, picking lettuce off her top and smoothing her free hand along her skirt. There wasn't a wrinkle or even lettuce on the skirt. Her fingers were shaking, her olive skin paling at just the thought. If Santana was alive it meant Micheal Berry was dead. He knew Rachel didn't want that not really. She really wanted to talk to him, to see for herself that he was gone. If he was dead she had lost her chance and he had lost his only connection to his Father and Quinn.

"Is he dead?" She whispered it.

Puck reached for her, wanting to touch her, to absorb some of the shock when Santana laid the final blow. His fingers just brushed the tips of her right hand curling around them and catching a bit of her skirt. For a moment she responded pulling him, holding him lightly, but more tightly than he expected. His eyes never left Santana's arm, that bloody bite, the blued veins around it.

"No." Puck's eyes shot to Santana's face, confused and Rachel pushed his fingers from hers as she got to her feet. She started to pace.

"What? How?" Puck missed her touch, the warmth of her fingers too light and too heavy against his own.

"Because, Puckerman I didn't find him. He found me, and he cut me a deal." Puck never thought Santana could be vulnerable or scared, but the look on her face showed him she was capable of both.

**Just to clear something up. The guy that was Puck's best friend and who Quinn pretended was the father of her baby was Sam. I didn't mean to write Finn. I'm fixing that so there won't be confusion. Finn is Rachel's. Puck's best friend, in this story, was Sam. Tell me what you think. **


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Take No Prisoners

Author: Peanutbutter1

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: So it's been a really long time. I don't expect anyone to even remember this fic. I'm finishing it because I'm sick of having all these unfinished works on my page. Thanks for reading if you read. I've got this plotted and pretty wrapped up and will update as frequently as I can.

_He hated funerals, always had since the moment his Nana Connie died and his Aunt Claire, who always talked shit about his Nana, came up to him and told him that she was so sorry. It was a lie. She once stood up at the table on Thanksgiving Day and told his Nana she hoped she choked on the turkey and that those 'sugar-free' cookies were chock full of real sugar and if the turkey didn't choke her the cookies would send her into a coma. His mother had told him she didn't mean it, but when Claire hugged nine year old Puck all he could think about was the hateful thinks the woman had yelled about his Nana. He slapped her away, throwing his casserole, untouched, at her and ran. Funerals didn't help anyone. It was just another place for lies to breed and take flight. Puck had avoided every funeral until today. Today he couldn't by pass it. _

_He hated the black suits and depressing music, the damn choking ties and the fake sympathy. He was dying in the large Catholic Church with Jesus hung on a cross in front of him. Religion was supposed to be comforting, but he was drowning in the unfamiliar pews and the crosses littering every surface of the building. The things he had seen that night, the reprieve a well tossed bottle of blessed water had given him should make his pounding heart calm when surrounded by the sacred walls and blessed ground, but all he felt was a roaring, raging anger. He didn't even think the familiar wall of his synagogue would offer solace. _

_He sat through the priest and the rabbi while the two put aside their religious differences to talk of life and death, redemption, and the life after. Puck hadn't been able to move, his yarmulke clutched in his hands when he couldn't take the weight of it on his head anymore. He shook when he remembered the night he'd lost everything and watched the reason for his Father's absence finally come to life. There had been a time, when he was young, that he'd been willing to give up anything to have his Father back, to know the reasons why he left. Those dreams had died and changed a long time ago, but the answer apparently hadn't. There was something floating around in the universe waiting to give him that answer and snatch it's price in return. He understood finally. He had his Father, but everything else was lost. _

_He'd stood during the last prayer, the one for little ones lost and fled. The cultural hall was empty when he sank into the chairs set up for what was probably a class or meeting in the building later that night. He couldn't think with the noise around him, the sniffling tears, the piercing stares. He could feel their eyes on him as he held his yarmulke in his hands, twisting it back and forth. He had never cared what people thought of him, not when he had wanted to be feared, but pity was something different. He didn't want pity from anyone. _

_When John found him, and he knew it had to be him even before the man's shoes stopped in front of his bowed head, he dropped the yarmulke and wiped his eyes. It was stupid to hide the tears. The man had seen him weep, screaming, desperate, pathetic, over Quinn's lifeless, bleeding body. What did he have to hide from the man, other than his shame? He snorted, a short muffled laugh, he guessed shame was enough. _

"_I get it," John fell into the seat next to Puck and reached for the yarmulke between Puck's feet. His was still nestled on the back of his head, unmoving. "I didn't want this for you, or your mother, but especially not for you or Hannah." _

_Puck swallowed eyes open wide to will the tears away. He wiped at his nose, afraid to speak. He could be angry at him. John Puckerman had brought his destruction with him, but he could understand him too. Puck would do anything to have his daughter, to have met her, to hold her, to be with her for only a fraction of a second if he could. It had been ripped from him in an instant and while Quinn lay at that monster's feet bleeding, her life fading, his daughter went with her. Beth Eliza Puckerman/Fabray, a name he chose because the woman who was supposed to help him choose was gone, and if he was honest probably wouldn't have let him have a say even if she had lived. _

_John had waited until Puck was no longer screaming, or pulling to lunge at the creature. Puck could only watch as he cradled Quinn's dying body in his arms and tried to ignore the warmth of blood soaking into the denim of his jeans, sticking to his leg. She looked at him, for a moment, eyes unfocused but straight, she looked angry. _

_It's hard to watch a fight to the death through tears and blood, but he saw his father charge, screaming, no weapon, just rage. Puck didn't miss the teeth or the jagged holes in Quinn's neck or the pale lifeless color of her skin. It was too much to take in at the time, but it was something he couldn't ignore. Monsters were real. His Father fought them, had been trying to protect the Puckerman family from the beginning. John Puckerman had failed and one of those monsters had killed his son's baby girl and her mother. In the end he watched his Father slice the creature's head off with machete he'd failed to notice strapped to his side. _

_John pushed the yarmulke back into Puck's hand and only let his fingers release when Puck held it. His grip was loose. He didn't know what he was holding onto it for. _

"_I always hoped," he cleared his throat, his hand falling off Puck's and resting on the thigh of his slacks. "I had hope. I hoped I'd come back to you, to your mother, your sister. I always hoped I could put this behind me." _

_The yarmulke crumpled. '_Hope, God, what bull shit_,' Puck snorted but didn't speak he didn't trust his own voice. _

"_I didn't think it would be like this. I didn't think I'd come back and bring this with me." _

_Puck looked at the yarmulke clenched in his fist, barely visible threw tears he couldn't hold back any longer. He didn't know what he was holding it for, why his father had pushed it into his hand. He opened his fist and let it drop. He wasn't picking it up again. Hope was ridiculous, God was a joke. He didn't need this and he didn't need his father. He was sorry he'd ever prayed for him. He stood, too upset to really be careful and knocked the chair over nearly tripping when the leg hit him in the back of the thigh. Growling he reared back and kicked the chair, a heavy boom echoing in the high ceiling room. _

"_Mother fucker," he screamed and kicked the chair again, like it was to blame for everything churning in his gut. _

"_I'm sorry." _

_It wasn't worth an acknowledgment. It was John Puckerman's fault, but it was also Puck's. Sorry was just a word and it didn't mean anything. _

"_I can't make it right. I can't turn back time and not come back, but I can offer you something else." _

_His blood was still roaring in his ears and his fist were clenched tightly at his sides. He didn't know what he wanted what he needed, but he was sick of crying. _

"_I can offer you revenge." _

0o0o0o0

_Puck jogged down the stairs hopping the last two and sliding on the hardwood floor in his haste to get around the corner. He was skipping school, again, so the house was empty, but he wanted to be out before his little sister's bus stopped at the house. She would definitely tell on him. The kid loved to get him in trouble. John was supposed to meet him at the lot in a hour and he wanted to swing by Burger King on the way before his stomach ate itself in protest. Grabbing his duffel bag he slung it over his shoulder and jerked the door open only to almost run into Sam Evans. _

_Puck nearly dropped his bag, nearly backed up, but the surprise never showed on his face, and he merely shifted his balance so he wouldn't stumble. The training was really paying off. He forgot about his cheeseburger for a second and tried to consider just why Sam Evans, who hated him, was standing on his porch, fist raised. Puck didn't guess his was getting punched. He'd let Sam hit him after the whole reveal of the true paternity thing, but now he didn't owe Sam anything. He figured losing everything was enough punishment. _

"_What do you want?" He asked instead. _

_Sam lowered his fist, smiled, goofy half smile he always got when a new comic book came out. Sam Evans had always been a big dork. "Right, sorry. You opened the door when I was about to knock. I almost got you in the face." He pushed his blond hair off his forehead. He'd let it grow long in the front and kept it pushed back. He looked ridiculous but it was better than the beiber cut. _

_Puck didn't say anything but hiked his duffel higher on his shoulder, staring, waiting. Sam hadn't had anything to say to him in nearly a year. Quinn and Beth, his, their, daughter, had been dead nearly five months and other than the unreadable look Sam shot him at the funeral the two of them didn't have much interaction. Puck had pretty much quit everything, sports, his glee club, school. _

"_Yeah, so, I wanted to talk to you." Sam pushed his hair again._

"_So talk," Puck wasn't going to apologize or pretend like they were still friends. He apologized already and gotten a punch in the face for it. The first punch he could admit to deserving the next few and that one kidney shot, so uncalled for, he wasn't so sure of. He pushed past Sam ignoring the way his legs shook as he scrambled off the porch and jogged toward his car. He didn't have time for this. He had shit to do, important stuff, and Sam; as much as the two of them had once meant to each other, didn't matter. _

"_Well, right," He followed, trailing at a much slower pace. "I just, well you quit football." _

_Puck rolled his eyes and tossed his bag into the truck bed. The clank of metal and wooden weapons was loud enough to draw Sam's gaze to the truck. Puck opened the driver side door and eyed Sam as he stepped around the side of the truck, eyes trained on the bed and the bag. "Yeah, I did that months ago, you just notice?" _

"_No, I just," Sam paused and pushed some dirt with his shoe, his eyes straying back to Puck's face. "You're not going to graduate if you don't come to school and I know football was like you're fall back for college." _

_He'd save him the effort of small talk and some sort of nostalgic bull shit that the end of High School was bringing on. Puck only had one future, one choice, and whether he wanted it or not. His fate had been sealed. "Yeah, not really a problem. I'm not graduating." _

_Puck stepped onto the runner board of his truck and ducked into the cab. He sank into the seat turning the ignition quickly and effectively shutting the blond's mouth. The truck rumbled a beat of silence that felt like hours. He really needed to leave. His arm reached, eyes focused on the open window, the chipped paint and not the face of his former best friend. Before he could shut the door and pull out Sam's hand reached into the car settling over his hand. Puck reacted without thinking. He grabbed his friend's wrist and twisted. The surprised, hurt cry and Sam wide eyed and scared made him let go. It was hard, fighting what he'd made himself become. Sam pulled away from the truck his good hand on the open window his twisted one against his stomach. His eyes were watering and even though Puck new he had stopped in time he also knew he could have snapped his friends wrist just as easily. The good thing was that he didn't feel bad about it, or that's what he told himself. _

"_The fuck, dude," Sam cursed and lunged toward the window pulling himself in and half over Puck's lap. One hand on Puck's face shoving him backward and the element of surprise gave Sam the seconds he needed to yank the keys from the ignition and quiet the car. He backed out as quickly as he'd come and Puck barely had time to push the blond's hand off his face, annoyed at being one upped. "What are you talking about?" _

_Puck wasn't worried about his keys. He could get them back. He was a little irritated that he'd let Sam surprise him, but when he should have boiling with anger, he wasn't. It was funny how confidence beat down the rage that had been building inside him his entire life. Every fight, every tantrum, every second he'd been unsure of himself had resulted in a rage he couldn't contain or control until now. He really didn't have time for this. _

"_Sam, we're not friends. I screwed that up when I fucked your girlfriend and got her pregnant." Sam flinched, but didn't step back. "We might have recovered, you know, if I hadn't gone and killed them both. You and me Sammy," he swallowed and took a second and look at his best friend. He'd known him since he was seven. Sam was the first kid he ever told about his father. Sam was the one that joined Glee with him. Sam was the only person who had ever believed in him. "We're done." _

_He was a loser. It was agonizing, realizing that, facing it. It was his fault Quinn was dead. It was his fault that Beth never saw the world. If he had just left his best friend's girl alone. If he wasn't such a fuck up life would be different. He couldn't change that, couldn't fix what he was, what genetics seemed to have laid on him, but he could make it as right as possible. His job was balance and killing the vampires that were hunting his family, had killed his child and Quinn, would set things right. _

"_No," Sam gripped the rolled down window frame his fingers tapping on the car door. "No,"his voice softened and he shook his head. "Man, that mess, that wasn't your fault." _

_Puck rolled his eyes. He was done talking, he didn't have time for this. "Sam, just give me my keys." _

"_No," Sam stepped back. "Not until you talk to me. Remember when my family was all messed up and my Dad lost his job and I wanted to run off? You stopped me. You took my keys and made me listen. I'm going to do the same to you. All that bullshit, all that stuff from last year..." Sam trailed off his fingers working in his pocket, rolling the keys against his palm. "I'm done with it. We're friends, always have been. You're going to talk to me and we're going to get you back on track." _

_His father had told him, time and time again, that friends, connections were what caused problems. He'd admitted that he wished he'd never married Puck's mom and even though it was left unsaid it was understood that he wished he hadn't had any kids. He wasn't going to do this, pull another person into this. _

"_Give me the keys, Sam. I'm not playing around." Puck leaned into the steering wheel steeling his nerve. His fingers clenched the wheel, released, clenched again. His were getting the spaghetti wobble he'd fought against earlier. A tremor was working it's way into his body. He didn't want to do this. _

"_Puck, just listen," Sam pleaded. _

_He never got to finish. Puck was out of the truck so fast Sam cut himself off and stepped back, immediately on the defensive. Puck stalked forward. He could see the fleeting fear in Sam's eyes. Did he look so different? Sam raised his arm, probably not to hit, more to talk, guy was always talking with his hands. Puck slapped his wrist away and grabbed the arm in Sam's pocket. One quick spin and before Sam could even take a breath Puck had him pinned to the driveway. He pressed his knee into his former friend's back and twisted his arm backward. _

"_Fuck, what the fuck, Puck let me go." He tried to struggle, but Puck's knee stopped him and he groaned when he tried to move. "That hell man!" His voice was muffled against the ground, his breath coming in a dry wheeze. _

_Puck reached into Sam's pocket and fished his keys out, still holding Sam's arm with his free hand. Sam didn't bother to struggle. "Sam," Puck pushed him until he grunted a response and Puck could tell, without even looking that Sam was turning red, both with anger and a shortened air supply. "Don't come here. We're not friends." He leaned down until Sam gasped, squeaking painfully as his air was cut off. "If you come here again," he shook his head steeling himself to say what he needed to. The tremor was back working up his arm and clenching his chest in his vice like grip. He pushed Sam into the ground harder, fist clenched in the fabric of his shirt willing the shake away. When he finally spoke his voice was hard, he barely recognized it. "Sam, if you come here again I'll fucking beat the shit out of you. Leave, Me. Alone." He pressed hard until Sam wheezed, a wet gasping cough for air, and stood. _

_Puck didn't wait to see Sam's face, or even if his friend was alright. There was a weight on his chest, pressing heavily on his rib cage, constricting. The wobble shake of his legs had to be visible so he scrambled to the truck to hide the tremor. He forgot about the food and focused on the training. It was his purpose. It was meaning. It was everything. He didn't feel better. He didn't really feel anything, but he knew he never wanted to go back, to have to carry out the promise he'd made. He was fucking done. _

"_You're late!" John's voice rushed over the empty lot and Puck picked his head off the steering wheel and watched his old man limp toward him. Last week he'd hit the man so hard in the knee he's cursed for an hour straight after. Seemed Puck had aggravated an old football injury. Puck figured it was payback for the time John Puckerman left him passed out in a lot over night. He woke too sore to move with gravel imbedded in his face. That shit was fucking cold, so a little limp was nothing. _

"_Yeah," Puck shrugged, eyes resting just over John's shoulder, that weight was still on his chest, squeezing. "I'm ready to go. I mean lets get the fuck out of here. I've trained enough." He expected protest or we'll leave tomorrow, but John shrugged and was surprisingly nonchalant when he said 'ok'. _

0o0o0

"You didn't think you should have started with that!" Puck nearly screamed. His fingers tightened on Rachel and he pulled her, hoping she'd rise up and step away from Santana.

Santana dropped the bandage to the floor, flicking the medical tap a bit as she threw it. "Didn't really hear you protesting." She commented lightly and crossed her arm over her ample chest, her bitten arm drew attention like a neon sign.

"Yeah, well I would have If I knew I was fucking the undead. That's gross." Puck mumbled and it was only then that Rachel stepped beside him her shoulder behind his. He preferred it that way. Santana may have been his oldest friend and there was a part of him that was screaming in protest but he pushed it away.

"Wait, she's dead," Rachel asked. "She doesn't look dead?"

"Not yet." Puck answered, eyes still trained on the Latina. "Have you fed?"

For the first time Santana looked sad her gaze falling from theirs to her feet. "No, but I want to. I almost ripped your throat out." She laughed. "Do you know how good you smell. I mean who knew what all that vampire hype for blood was so," she paused, "accurate."

"God, Santana, Fuck!" Puck pulled Rachel closer and pushed her further behind him at the same time. His brow crinkled as he watched her half scared half blissed out face. She was gone, fucking gone. It wouldn't be long.

"You think this is what I wanted?" Santana laughed and rubbed her fingers over the red sore of her arm. "I've been blowing the heads off these bastards for years. I didn't figure I'd live long. I always knew I'd go down fighting, but I didn't want to go down like this, like one of them." Her brow eyes were shining her tanned cheeks reddening. He couldn't help but think how it wouldn't be like that for long.

"I didn't," Rachel started and Puck pushed her lightly.

"Stop." He told her and shook his head. For once she kept quiet. "What was this deal?" Puck asked eyes never leaving Santana's. He'd first met the girl when he was seventeen, cocky, angry, and still trying to get out from underneath his father's shadow. She had been a revelation. She'd turned his entire life around.

"Rachel's Dad, not really that important, from what I can tell. When they came storming into Ohio leaving that trail of blood they were after one person." Santana paused a moment her eyes settling on Rachel. "You."

"My Dad's looking for me," Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed the tears out of her eyes.

"Don't get all lifetime channel on me Berry. He's not looking to catch up on hugs and kisses." Santana sneered. "You are very important."

Rachel watched Santana's eyes linger on Puck taking in his form. She was sizing him up. He didn't see it. Didn't realize, even as he pushed her behind him the danger they were in. She lunged, Puck faltered, his fingers trying to find purchase but failing. Rachel was flung backwards by one of Puck's palms slamming her head against the wall and unable to move as she watched the girl open her mouth and dive into Puck throat. Her arms wouldn't move her legs. She was frozen, her voice choked in the back of her throat and then red rolled to life hot and red down the side of Puck's neck and she screamed.

0o0o0o0

"_What are you guys like a father and son team? That's," she cocked her head to the side and snorted, "cute." _

_Puck shifted and let his machete remain just so in front of him. He never thought he'd be defending his manhood while holding a blood covered knife. He was a fucking badass. He'd just decapitated the vampire holding the sarcastic girl against the wall. She should be grateful, not so snarky. _

"_Just doing our job." John Puckerman answered his voice light with humor. "Maybe you should find a new job, little girl." He kicked a stray head out of his way and pulled a towel out of his pocket and wiped the blade of his machete. He was almost obsessive with his weapons. He spent a good deal of his off time polishing guns and sharpening knives. _

_Puck watched brows raised as the snarky girl leaned down and picked up a machete at her feet. She shrugged. She didn't seem to be so concerned about the fact that she'd almost been killed then again it was an occupational hazard for vampire hunters. You didn't measure your life in years any more. _

"_So Vampire hunter Senior and Junior you wanna team up?" _

0o0o0o0


End file.
